


One Reason

by mahbecks



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Background Relationships, Bad Jokes, Blind Date, Enemies to Lovers, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Felileth Week, Humor, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-12
Updated: 2020-10-21
Packaged: 2021-03-04 21:28:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 53,505
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25223146
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mahbecks/pseuds/mahbecks
Summary: “You need to get laid,” Catherine says.And sure, maybe it’s been a while - maybe she could use a good bout of meaningless sex. But time is one thing Byleth does not have; dating is not exactly at the top of her list, and she refuses to download any of the dating apps Sylvain tells her about.“Well if apps are out, would you be open to a blind date instead?” Dorothea suggests.One reason - Byleth needs one reason to say no.She has none.
Relationships: Felix Hugo Fraldarius/My Unit | Byleth
Comments: 279
Kudos: 379





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Started for Felileth Week, Day 1 - Modern AU / First Date
> 
> I actually didn't know about Felileth Week until like... two weeks ago, but this fit one of the themes, so I figured I would post it now (and hope that's okay) - I also somehow thought the 12th was tomorrow, so I almost missed this entirely, lol, whoops

“You need to get laid.”

Byleth scowled at Catherine from across the table. “Can I at least get my coat off first?” she demanded, shrugging out of her jacket and slinging it over the back of the chair she was claiming as her own. She sat down with a huff, still shooting daggers at her friend. “Hello to you too, Cat.”

Catherine raised her beer, downing the rest of the drink. “I’m just saying,” she said. “It’s been a while since - what was his name? That guy you met at the bar who was built like a house?”

“Raphael?” 

Byleth looked up just in time to see her other friend, Shamir, saunter back to their table, two more beers in her hand. “Was that his name?” she asked, sliding down into the seat next to Catherine. “The one built like a house?”

The blonde grinned, accepting one of the glasses as she pressed a kiss to the other woman’s cheek. “Thanks, babe.”

“Raphael is the guy whose little sister I babysit,” Byleth corrected, flipping open a menu and heading straight for the alcohol section. “Definitely not the last guy I had sex with.”

“Eh, he’s got a nice body,” Catherine allowed, shrugging. 

“Too many muscles,” Shamir disagreed, taking a sip of her own beer.

Catherine pouted. “Hey, I thought you liked muscles. I have muscles.”

“Yours are fine.”

“Aw, shucks.”

“Well, if it wasn’t Raphael, what was his name?” Shamir continued. She lifted an eyebrow. “You did get his name before you fucked him, right? Please tell me you didn’t sleep with a total stranger.”

She hadn’t. Or if she did, she didn’t remember it. 

She _did_ remember the sex though - because it had been fantastic. It was the kind of sex you only got once a year, that toe-curling, teeth-grinding, hair-pulling kind of sex you reminisce about every _other_ time in the year when you were fucking someone with less skill. Or if you were just fucking your own hand into the mattress. 

“I was a little preoccupied at the time,” Byleth shot back. 

Catherine laughed at that, but Shamir just sighed. “Did you get his number at least?”

“Didn’t ask for it,” Byleth replied. 

“Of course you didn’t.”

“Why are we discussing this, anyways? And where is everyone else?”

“Sylvain and Dorothea are playing pool,” Catherine replied. “Mercedes had to cancel though - Annette’s feeling sick, and she didn’t want to leave her home alone.”

“No sign of Seteth?”

“He had to drop Flayn off at a friend’s house,” Shamir supplied.

“Ah.”

“But back to your question,” Catherine continued. “It’s been a while - and no offense, Byleth, but you’re pretty fucking stressed.” 

Byleth huffed out a breath, crossing her arms over her chest. 

Catherine wasn’t wrong - she _was_ stressed. Trying to finish up her master’s degree while teaching a class of very ambitious high school seniors was a lot of work. She would often get home in the evenings after her classes only to spend the next several hours grading papers and creating lectures. If she managed to get to the gym four times a week anymore, she was lucky. But she refused to do anything less than right by them; they were good kids - no, _great_ kids, really - and they deserved the best that she could give them.

What she needed was more hours in a day, or days in a week.

Having someone fuck her brains out wasn’t going to solve that problem.

“It’s just for two mores semesters,” she said. “I can manage.”

“Manage what?” Dorothea dropped into the chair beside her, flashing her a brilliant smile. “Hey, By.” 

Byleth couldn’t help it - she smiled back. Dorothea just had that effect on people. “Hey,” she offered back. 

“Been here long?”

“Just got here actually - help me pick out a drink so we can stop talking about my sex life.”

“Oooh, your sex life? Why are we talking about your sex life?” Dorothea leaned over, surveying the drinks listed on the page. She stabbed a finger at a picture of a disgustingly pink concoction. “And you should get that one - it’ll take a while for the alcohol to hit you, but you’ll have a good time getting there.”

“We _aren’t_ talking about my sex life - _these two_ just keep bringing it up,” she replied, pointing at Catherine and Shamir.

“Leave me out of this,” Shamir replied. “It was Catherine’s idea.”

“Hey!” Catherine held a hand to her chest, mocking offense. “You were on my side when we talked about this earlier!”

“You _planned_ this?” Byleth demanded. 

“There were bullet points,” Shamir confirmed.

“Traitor,” Catherine spat.

Shamir shrugged off this insult, turning to Dorothea and a newly-arrived Sylvain, two drinks in his hands. “Catherine thinks Byleth needs to get laid,” she explained. “Because it’s been a while, and Byleth is stressed.”

“Interesting,” Dorothea mused.

“I am pro-getting laid,” Sylvain offered. “Ten out of ten, would recommend.”

“We know,” Shamir snapped, voice flat.

Dorothea picked up one of Sylvain’s drinks and took a delicate sip. “And let me guess - you don’t want to get laid.”

“No, I - well, I don’t _not_ want to get laid but I - that’s not the point,” Byleth said, her words rushing together in her frustration. She held up a hand to forestall Catherine’s incoming quip, knowing that smirk when she saw it. “Don’t you start.”

“I said nothing,” Catherine protested.

“You wanted to.”

“...maybe.”

“What is the point, then?” Sylvain interjected.

Byleth huffed out a breath. “I don’t have _time_ to date,” she said. 

“Who said anything about dating?” Catherine demanded. “Just find a good one and have at ‘em!”

“That’s a terrible strategy,” Byleth said flatly. 

“What? You’re young, you’re attractive!”

“Because to _get_ one, I have to go out and _find_ one.”

“You know, there’s like a thousand dating apps out there now,” Sylvain said. Byleth shot him an exasperated look, and he threw up his hands in self-defense. “I’m just saying! A lot of people use these apps to hook up, and you don’t even have to leave your house.”

“Do they work?”

Sylvain turned to Dorothea, who had asked. “Hit or miss, to tell you the truth.”

“Then why would Byleth waste the time?”

Dorothea seemed staunchly on her side, and Byleth felt a surge of gratitude for her friend. At least _one_ person at this table seemed to have her back. 

A server chose that time to come to their table, and she managed to put her in drink order as Sylvain explained the nuances of app-related dating and hook-ups. 

Truth be told, the whole thing seemed like a lot of work. First, you had to make a profile - a good profile, not some half-assed page that no one would look at twice. The selfie you chose was key, Sylvain insisted, as was your bio - these could make or break your profile. Then, you had to comb through the profiles of various other people the app suggested based on your input, choosing who you were attracted to and who didn’t quite make the cut. And _then,_ as if that wasn’t enough work, you had to wait to see if those people also happened to find _you_ attractive.

“If it’s a match, you get to talking, and then you just - let things go from there,” he said, finishing up. “Easy.”

“That - that is the farthest thing from easy I’ve ever heard in my life,” Byleth deadpanned. 

The server had brought her drink halfway through his tirade - she’d already downed half of it just to keep herself from interjecting.

He shrugged. “Hey, works for me,” he said. 

“Really?” Dorothea asked. “You’ve gotten laid using this app?”

“Couple times, yeah.”

“A couple of times, huh. And how many times have you _used_ said app?”

“...more than a couple.”

“So your success rate is about… oh, give me a rough estimate.”

Sylvain was saved by Seteth’s timely appearance, some thirty minutes after they’d agreed to meet up for cocktails. 

“Apologies for being so late,” he said. “There was an accident a few miles back, and it took some time to get things cleared up. What have I missed?” He reached for the glass of water their server had doled out to each seat earlier, taking a sip.

“Catherine thinks Byleth needs to get laid, Byleth thinks Catherine should get bent, and Sylvain uses dating apps with a surprisingly small rate of success,” Shamir recited. 

Seteth choked, sputtering.

“Goddess,” he huffed, hitting his chest. “That is _not_ the topic of conversation I was expecting-”

“Oh, come on, we’re all adults here,” Catherine retorted.

“We are in _public-_ ”

“We are at a crowded _bar_ on a Friday night-”

“Have you no _decency-_ ”

“Alright, let’s not go down that particular path,” Dorothea said quickly, sensing a touchy subject fast approaching. “Seteth, I promise we’ll keep it PG-

“Please, see that you do,” he said, still wiping up water from where he’d unceremoniously spit it out. 

“-and Cat, let’s try to keep it down just a little bit, shall we? You _can_ get rather loud.”

Catherine shrugged. “Have to be, if I want the squirts to hear me,” she replied. She flashed a grin, finishing off her second beer. “PE teacher problems, huh?”

“If you don’t want to use a dating app, By, then you shouldn’t,” Dorothea continued, turning back to Byleth. “They do sound like an awful lot of work.” 

“Thank you.”

“We will respect your opinions on that subject. I do have to ask though - would you be open to a blind date?”

“...what?”

“There’s a thought,” Sylvain said, leaning forward. “That could - yeah, that could work!”

“It takes all of the guesswork out of it!” Dorothea said. “We know you better than any computer algorithm ever could - what if _we_ picked out someone we thought you’d like and, you know… set something up for you?”

“I have a bad feeling about this,” Byleth muttered.

“All you’d have to do is show up,” Sylvain pointed out. “You like the guy - great! Take him home. You don’t like the guy? Great! At least you’ll get dinner out of it.”

Byleth almost felt bad, seeing how eager her two friends looked at this idea of theirs - almost. But there was a reason she was one of the last single people in their friend group; she _hated_ dating. She even had a speech prepared. It was too formal, it put too much pressure on the people involved, and it didn’t lend itself well to actually getting to know someone. A _blind_ date, where she wouldn’t even know the person she was being set up with, seemed like all of that on _steroids._

“From a purely theoretical standpoint, who would be doing the setting up?” Seteth asked.

Byleth shot him an affronted look. “Et tu, Seteth?” she demanded. 

“I must admit, curiosity gets the best of me, sometimes.”

She huffed, taking another sip from her drink. Dammit, but she was almost out. She really _would_ have to order another one soon; this was one conversation she was _not_ having while sober.

“Look, I appreciate the offer,” she started. “But-”

“Thea.” Sylvain nudged the brunette with an elbow, a devilish grin on his face. “Are you thinking -” He leaned forward, whispering in her ear.

Bad.

Bad sign.

“But this isn’t just about not having time,” Byleth continued, more loudly this time. “I don’t know that this is a good idea. You want to set me up with a stranger-”

“Yes!” Dorothea cried, delighted. “Oh, they would be just perfect-”

“Right? _So_ similar-”

“-and for all I know, he could be a total creep, or a weirdo, or-”

“Byleth, I would never set you up with someone I wouldn’t date myself,” Dorothea assured her, laying a hand on her arm.

Catherine snorted. “That’s rich,” she muttered. 

“I beg your pardon?”

“I mean, your record isn't exactly great. Didn’t you date that guy from the coffee shop down the street? The one who looks like he belongs on a My Chemical Romance album cover?” 

Dorothea sniffed. “That was my bad year,” she said primly. 

“Heh, you thought he was so _artsy_ and _avant-garde_ -”

“We don’t speak of Hubert in this house, Cat.”

“Wait, you dated Hubert? Hubert von _Vestra_?” Sylvain demanded. He frowned. “How did I not know of this?”

“It was a bad year,” Byleth deadpanned. “Didn’t you hear?”

“I missed this. I don’t know if I’m more appalled at you for not telling me or me for not noticing.” He frowned. “I always thought he was obsessed with-”

“Those were dark days, Sylvain, _dark_ days.”

“A moratorium is still in effect,” Byleth advised.

“Wait, _you_ knew?”

“We’re getting rather off subject, here,” Seteth interjected. “I don’t know who this Hubert is, but his mention obviously makes Dorothea uncomfortable. Shall we get back to the matter at hand? Namely, who is setting Byleth up on this blind date, and with whom?”

“Thank you, Seteth,” Dorothea said. 

“Yes, thank you,” Byleth muttered under her breath.

“As it so happens, I have a friend in mind,” Dorothea said. 

“He’s my friend, too,” Sylvain added. “Good guy - bit rough around the edges, but deep down, he’s a total marshmallow.” He paused, scratching at his head. “Uh, don’t tell him I said that though. He’d probably murder me.”

“He would most certainly murder you,” Dorothea agreed.

“But he’s a good guy! Really, I promise.”

“Wow, you’re so convincing,” Byleth said. 

“And he’s totally hot!” Dorothea gushed. “Dark hair, athletic - totally your type.”

She _did_ have a type, and that was it. 

Still. Attractive or not, this was still probably, most likely, definitely a bad idea.

...right?

“So, would you be open to meeting up with him?” Dorothea pressed. 

“He is definitely down to fuck, if that matters.”

“Sylvain!”

“What? He is! And honestly,” he said, leaning towards Byleth, “It’s been a while for him too, so really, this is a two birds, one stone kind of thing.”

Byleth shook her head. 

One reason - she needed one legitimate reason to get out of this. One reason other than "I don't like dating" - because, honestly, who did?

Try as she might, she had none.

Her friends meant well - she knew that. The whole thing was rather crude, but she knew their interest was coming from a good place. They were worried about her - and not without good reason. She hadn’t been getting much sleep lately, and her workload wasn’t getting any lighter as the semester really started picking up. If the strain was as obvious to them as it was to her… well, it made sense that they’d want to try and help her in any way they could.

And, if she were being honest… a good fuck couldn’t hurt things. It _had_ been a while.

She sighed, and Dorothea pounced, sniffing out defeat like a hound on a scent.

“You’ll do it?” she asked, excited. “You’ll go on a blind date with him?”

“Do I have a choice?”

Dorothea smiled. “Of course you do, By. Say the word, and we’ll stop.”

Byleth made a show of rolling her eyes as hard as she possibly could, putting as much beleaguered melodrama as she could into her reply. 

“ _Fine._ One date. I will go on one date with this guy.”

Dorothea squealed. “This calls for celebration shots!” she said, jumping to her feet. “Who’s with me?” 

Catherine immediately rose to join her. “Hell yeah, I’m in!”

The two of them rushed over to the bar, Shamir following as their reluctant chaperone, leaving Byleth, Sylvain, and Seteth alone at their table.

“If this goes badly…” Byleth warned, shooting Sylvain a look.

“Duly noted,” Sylvain said, saluting. “But trust me - I think you’ll like Felix. That’s his name, by the way - Felix.”

“You did mention that,” Seteth said.

“How do you know him, exactly?”

“Oh, we go way back - our families are old friends. Same schools, same college… we’re besties.”

“And Dorothea?”

“Met her in undergrad; Felix needed a theater credit, and got tasked with creating props for the semester’s rendition of _Hamlet_ \- Dorothea was playing Ophelia.”

“And he’s… normal, this Felix? Not a weirdo?”

Sylvain snorted. “Well, he’s got his odd habits, but he’s not, like, a serial killer or something,” he said. 

Byleth blinked. “That’s not very reassuring.”

“Come on, I meant he goes for a run religiously at five a.m. every morning - in the _dark_ \- and doesn’t like chocolate-chip cookies odd, not _I murder people for fun_ odd.”

“What kind of monster doesn’t like chocolate chip cookies?”

“The kind of monster that’s obsessed with counting macros and how many push-ups he can do in a minute and how fast his five-K mile splits are.”

She snorted. “He sounds like Angry Gym Guy.”

Sylvain raised his eyebrows, thinking. “You know, you’re not wrong there.” 

Seteth frowned. “I’m sorry, but… who?”

“Angry Gym Guy.”

Sylvain lifted an eyebrow. “You’ve never heard Byleth complain about Angry Gym Guy?”

“I don’t believe I have.”

Byleth gave Sylvain a gentle kick under the table. “Come on, I don’t talk about him that much.”

“I literally know his exact workout routine, down to the day.”

She winced. “Okay, maybe I do complain a bit.” Turning to Seteth, she added, “He’s this guy who goes to my gym - total asshole.”

“What’s so bad about him?”

“He’s always… _competing_ with me,” she explained. “I’m running laps? _He’s_ running laps. I’m doing squats? _He’s_ doing squats.”

Seteth blanched. “He follows you around the gym?”

She shook her head. “I don’t think so,” she said. “He doesn’t even look at me, most of the time. He’s just… he’s always there, and he’s always pushing himself, so it makes me push myself, harder than I should, and it just-” She broke off, sighing. “Plus, he always looks like he’s about to punch something - or yell at someone for racking the weights wrong. Total prick.”

“I… see.”

“And there was that time he rear-ended your car,” Sylvain said.

“He hit your _car_?” Seteth demanded.

“It was just the one time,” Byleth said quickly. “I backed out too quickly, and he didn’t see me-”

“Still his fault,” Sylvain pointed out. “He hit you.”

“And he was _not_ happy about it.”

“Hence the moniker,” Seteth said, slowly grasping the concept.

“Hence,” Sylvain agreed. He turned back to Byleth, waving a hand dismissively. “Well, I can assure you, Felix may be a little… prickly. But he’s not a total dick.”

“I’ll hold you to that.”

Dorothea and Catherine returned then, shots divvied up between them. They passed them around, making sure that everyone had two little glasses of liquor, before Dorothea took up her seat at the head of the table, holding one hand high.

“To Byleth getting laid!” she said, beaming.

Byleth abstained from the cheer that went up, choosing to down her tequila in silence. 

“And to good first dates!” Catherine added.

Down went the second shot. It was worse than the first, and Byleth shook her head violently to try and clear the taste from her mouth.

“I hate you so much,” she spat, putting on her most wounded expression. 

“No, you don’t,” Sylvain said, throwing an arm around her shoulder.

“You love us,” Dorothea added.

“L-O-V-E, love,” Catherine crowed.

“And later on, when you and Felix get married, you’ll be thanking us.”

“To my dearest friends, Sylvain and Dorothea - I’m so sorry for being a pain about that whole blind date thing-”

Byleth elbowed Sylvain, hard. “Ass.”

He laughed, rubbing at his side. “I deserved that.”

“You did.”

“So, now that that’s settled,” Catherine interjected, drawing everyone’s attention as she leaned forward onto the table. “Why haven’t you two fucked each other yet?” She pointed between Sylvain and Dorothea, grinning. 

“ _Cat!”_

Everyone was suddenly speaking at once - Dorothea vehemently denying any sort of attraction for Sylvain, Sylvain protesting that he didn’t want to sleep with _every_ person he befriended, Shamir goading everyone on with her well-placed barbs. It allowed Byleth some much needed time to herself, and she sank back into her chair, happy to be out of the spotlight for once this evening. To her other side, Seteth chuckled.

“Happy they’re not discussing _your_ sex life anymore?” he asked.

“Oh, I’m thrilled,” she replied, reaching for her water.

He chuckled. “I can imagine. Thankfully, they’ve never forced that particular topic of conversation on me.”

“It’s different,” Byleth said. 

“It is.”

She turned, studying her friend curiously. He was browsing the menu, looking at the assorted appetizers and meals, their friends’ increasingly loud voices not bothering him in the slightest. 

“Can I ask you something, Seteth?”

“Of course.”

“Do you ever think you’d date again?”

He looked up, his green eyes thoughtful. “I have considered it,” he said slowly. “But… no, I think not. What I had with my wife was… it was a once-in-a-lifetime affair, Byleth. She and I both knew it. The thought of attempting to replicate that with someone else…” He shook his head. “Besides - I have Flayn, I have my students, and I have all of you.” He smiled. “That is enough for me.”

“But don’t you ever…” She wiggled her eyebrows, hoping he got her meaning. “You know.”

Seteth raised his eyes to the heavens. “Goddess have mercy on me. Please don’t make me answer that question.”

Byleth was no goddess - but she was benevolent, at times. 

She let the matter go.

* * *

A week later, and Byleth was ready for her blind date with Felix.

On Dorothea’s advice, she’d not dolled herself up too much; her makeup was minimal, nothing too drastic, and she’d selected a simple rose-colored dress to wear, pairing it with lacy, golden sandals and a few of the beaded bracelets Shamir had brought back to her from her last trip to Dagda. She looked nice - but not too nice. It was formal enough for an nice restaurant, but comfortable enough to go for a walk afterwards. 

They were meeting at a public parking garage downtown; from there, Byleth assumed, they’d figure things out. Felix, whose number Sylvain had given her, hadn’t exactly texted her an elaborate plan for the evening.

“Totally normal,” Sylvain had said when she’d mentioned this to him earlier. “He’s not really the… wine and dine type.”

“He does have _a_ plan though… right?” she’d asked.

Sylvain had just given her a sheepish look in reply.

Now, five minutes past the time they’d agreed to meet, Byleth was beginning to second-guess that assumption.

She looked down at her phone, checking once again for any notifications.

Nothing. Not a single thing.

She sighed, looking around the parking lot. Felix had given her a brief description of his car - black sedan, newish, Faerghus plates - to help her pick him out of the crowd. It had seemed helpful at the time. The problem was, that particular description fit _most_ of the cars here, and since nearly all of them had tinted windows, she couldn’t just walk around looking for the car with a dark-haired, athletic looking guy in the driver’s seat.

Fine, then. She would just have to make it obvious she was waiting for someone. 

She grabbed her bag and got out, heading around to the trunk. She leaned back against the bumper, checking her phone once again for any new messages. Her pulse quickened when she saw that she had a new text - but when she checked it, it was just an automated message from the vet, telling her that her dog, Sothis, was due for her annual check-up.

Across the way, a car door slammed shut.

Byleth looked up, hopeful - but the guy who got out was blonde, and he immediately made a beeline for the elevators to the ground floor. 

Not Felix, then.

“Waiting for someone?”

Byleth turned. A striking woman with icy platinum hair was getting out of the car two spaces down, an amused look in her violet eyes.

She smiled. “Is it obvious?”

The woman returned the smile, accepting the hand of the dark-haired man who came around to join her. “A little, maybe.”

“I’ll give him ten more minutes. If he doesn’t show, I’m out.”

The woman nodded approvingly, even as the man steered them away. 

Byleth looked down at her phone - ten more minutes, she’d said. She meant it; if Felix wasn’t here by then, she’d leave, date be damned.

She hoped Dorothea wouldn’t be too exasperated with her.

One minute passed - then two. 

At three minutes, she hopped up onto the trunk, resting her palms back against the warm metal.

At four, she reached into her bag for a piece of gum, and at five, she finally texted back the vet and asked if they had any open slots on a weekend.

The sixth minute had just passed when a car - black, newish - zoomed into the garage, whipping into a parking spot so quickly Byleth was certain the driver would get whiplash. They must have been in a hurry - or they were just an asshole with no regard for how well they managed to get their car parked.

Maybe it was both.

A man hopped out, a sour expression on his face and a cigarette in his hand as he glanced down at his phone. He was well-dressed, a pair of dark skinny jeans hugging his trim hips and lean, sculpted thighs, the sleeves of a navy button-down pushed up to show off toned, muscular forearms. His dark hair was pulled back and out of his face, pinned into an artfully mussed bun at the back of his head. A few lone strands framed his face, and he pushed these away irritably as he pocketed the phone and flicked the cigarette butt to the ground.

Byleth’s breath caught in her throat as he turned towards her. 

Shit.

This was just her fucking luck, wasn’t it? 

It was Angry Gym Guy. 

...who, for all of his incessant workout sessions, _smoked._

_And cleans up rather nicely,_ a part of her brain added. 

She squashed that thought, reminding herself that this the man who regularly scared gym patrons out of ever returning and had single-handedly forced the staff to implement a bring-your-own-punching bag to boxing-class day. 

He was an ass.

An attractive ass, but an ass nonetheless.

She looked away, hoping he wouldn’t notice her. That was the last thing she needed tonight, Angry Gym Guy coming to mock her for being stood up for her date. The icing on the cake, really, the buttercream frosting on this _supremely_ bad idea that was regretting ever allowing herself to agree to-

“What are you doing here?”

Byleth closed her eyes for a moment, inhaling deeply through her nose. 

When she opened them, the first thing she noticed was that he’d moved closer to her, close enough that she could smell the sharp, spicy cologne that just barely covered up the smoke clinging to his shirt. The second thing she noticed were the dark tattoos poking out of his shirtsleeves. She frowned; she’d never noticed those during any of their shared gym time. He was always wearing a long-sleeved shirt, despite the heat. 

Huh.

She wondered what they were. From this angle, it was hard to tell.

“I’m waiting for someone,” she said finally, sitting up straight. 

He snorted. “Funny,” he said. “So am I.”

“I’m waiting for someone who should be here _any moment_ ,” she clarified, taking another glance at her phone - still nothing. “So, if you don’t mind…”

He frowned. “If I don’t mind?”

She barely suppressed a laugh. “Leave,” she said. Did she have to spell it out for him?

He crossed his arms over his chest. “It’s a public parking garage.”

“So?”

“So I’m not going anywhere.”

Byleth rolled her eyes. “Fine. Whatever. Go wait over there, then. Just - leave me alone so I can wait for my date in peace.”

Angry Gym Guy’s frown deepened. “You’re here for a date?”

“I just said that, didn’t I?”

The frown shifted, changing into something more closely resembling panic. “Your date - what’s their name?” 

“What? Why?”

“Just - tell me their name,” he demanded, taking a step forward.

This was odd - and strangely invasive. She could count the number of conversations she’d had with Angry Gym Guy before on one hand, and none of them had been particularly pleasant. One, the talk they’d had while discussing their various car insurance plans and who was at fault here and why hadn’t he been paying attention to where he was going, had been distinctly _un_ pleasant.

So why was he suddenly so interested in -

Oh.

Oh, _no._

“Felix,” she said faintly. “His name is Felix.”

Angry Gym Guy stared at her for several, immeasurably long moments. “I’m Felix,” he said finally, confirming what she had already guessed to be true.

“Well, shit.”


	2. Chapter 2

“I’m going to murder him.”

Byleth blinked. “ _Murder_ him?”

“Yes. Murder him. With as blunt an object as I can possibly find.”

“That seems a little… dramatic, don’t you think?”

Felix shot her a glare. “I don’t know how long _you’ve_ known Sylvain-”

“Three years,” she interjected.

“-but when I say that this is just the latest in a long string of dumb, stupid, _asinine_ pranks he’s pulled, I fucking _mean_ it.”

Wait, a prank? 

“Hang on a minute-”

He pulled out his phone, angrily tapping at the screen.

“Don’t call him-”

“I’m not-”

“ _Felix._ ”

That did it. He looked up at her, still scowling, but his tapping subsided. 

“I don’t think this was a prank.” He opened his mouth, a hot reply on his lips, but she didn’t let him start. “Just hear me out, okay?”

His mouth snapped shut.

“There was no way that Sylvain knew we already knew each other. Come on, I didn’t even know your name before this.”

“Really.” It wasn’t a question.

“I have literally only ever referred to you in conversation as Angry Gym Guy.”

“ _Angy Gym Guy-”_

“How was he supposed to know that you and him were the same person? And besides, it wasn’t _just_ Sylvain - he and Dorothea concocted this whole scheme together. I’ve been told you knew her too?”

Felix’s eyes narrowed as he digested this. “Sylvain and Dorothea came up with this… together.”

“Yes.” He still didn’t look convinced, and she sighed. “Look, they probably just assumed we have… mutual interests and thought it would work.” 

He snorted. “What mutual interests do we possibly have?”

She blinked. “Well, you _are_ always at the gym at the same time as me,” she pointed out. “So, clearly, we at least have that in common.”

He huffed. “ _You_ come at the same time as _me,_ ” he snapped. 

“What’s the difference?”

“It was my gym first!”

“Are you serious?”

“You just showed up one day, out of the blue, taking the _good_ treadmill-”

“There are at least fifty treadmills in that gym-”

“-screwing up my routine-”

Byleth vaguely recalls that day. She had just moved to town, and was looking for a place that wouldn’t charge her an arm and a leg to use the facilities a few times a week. After filling out a frankly exhaustive amount of paperwork, she’d decided to go easy for the day - just do a couple of miles on the treadmill and then head out.

She’d picked a machine near the front, one directly under a fan so she’d get some air circulation, and gotten down to business. It was also the first time she’d ever noticed Felix, glaring balefully at her from across the way. 

_This_ was why?

“That’s it?”

He paused in his tirade.

“ _That’s_ why you hate me? Because I took your _treadmill_?”

“I don’t hate you,” he snapped. 

“Really? It certainly seems like that-”

“You’re just…” He waved a hand, as if she could tell what he meant from that. “Annoying.”

She forced out a laugh. “Because that’s so much better.” 

“It’s different,” he insisted.

“Whatever, Felix,” she said, hopping off the trunk and walking around the side of her car. “Have a nice night.”

She didn’t glance back as she hopped inside and started up the engine. But Felix didn’t say anything to try and stop her either, so she didn’t feel too bad for blowing him off. 

By the time she’d settled in and started checking her mirrors, he’d already started walking back to his car, another cigarette dangling from his lips, phone held up to one ear. 

Was he calling Sylvain, she wondered? Giving him a hard time?

She hoped for her friend’s sake that he wasn’t. Felix didn't seem the type to let something go easily.

Pulling out her own phone, she navigated to the group text she shared with Dorothea and Sylvain. Normally, they used it for bouncing ideas for movie nights off each other, or discussing where to get the best sushi downtown. Happy, benign texts - that was what this chat was for. 

Not anymore.

 **< Byleth> **Oh, so hey

 **< Byleth**> Guess what Angry Gym Guy’s name is

 **< Byleth> **It’s Felix, in case you were wondering

She looked up, just in time to see Felix speeding off, his driving as reckless as she’d thought it might be. 

Ass.

A soft vibration against her leg captured her attention, and she looked down to her phone to see which of her friends had texted her back. 

**< Dorothea> **NO

 **< Byleth> **Yes

 **< Dorothea>** Oh Goddess, By. I’m so sorry - I had no idea.

 **< Byleth> **I know you didn't

 **< Dorothea> **What are the odds of this happening?

 **< Byleth> **Statistically improbable? P < 0.05? 

Sylvain chose that moment to enter the conversation. 

**< Sylvain> **okay, sorry to bring this up in group chat, but I just got done with a very brief, very LOUD call with Felix and he was really upset with me 

< **Sylvain > **what the hell happened???

 **< Sylvain> **wait

 **< Sylvain> **fuck

 **< Byleth> **He thinks you punked him

 **< Byleth> **By setting us up on a blind date

 **< Sylvain> **who does he think I am, ashton kutcher???

 **< Sylvain> **shit

 **< Sylvain> **I’m sorry, Byleth

 **< Byleth> **Don’t worry about it - seriously 

**< Sylvain> **this was a total accident

 **< Dorothea> **COMPLETELY an accident

 **< Sylvain> **mea culpa

 **< Sylvain> **MEA CULPA

Byleth snorted at that, the hints of a smile tugging at her lips.

 **< Byleth> **Really, it’s nothing - honest mistake

 **< Byleth> **And no harm done. We went our separate ways. I’ll go home and have an ice cream sandwich. 

Not because she was wallowing at how poorly this “date” had gone. Because she was an adult, and if she wanted to have ice cream for dinner, then that’s what she would do.

Besides, she needed to go grocery shopping desperately and there was really very little else left in her apartment - it was just plain practical.

< **Sylvain > **he’s gonna kill me

 **< Dorothea> **Sylvain

 **< Sylvain> **and then salt and burn my bones

 **< Byleth> **I thought you said he wasn’t a serial killer?

 **< Dorothea> **Is this even serial killer behavior? I mean that last bit sounds like something you’d see a winchester brother doing

 **< Byleth> **Well, sheesh, maybe I should’ve given him a second chance…

 **< Sylvain> **I am going to DIE

 **< Dorothea> **Oh, stop making this about you, Sylvain

 **< Dorothea> **Felix is not going to murder you

 **< Sylvain> **help me, Dorothea Arnault - you’re my only hope

 **< Dorothea> **He will, at most, not speak to you for a week

 **< Sylvain> **ONE WHOLE WEEK

 **< Dorothea> **And then he’ll need you to help him with something around the house, and he’ll call you, and all will be good

 **< Byleth> **Something around the house…?

 **< Dorothea> **Felix is renovating. He doesn’t have a ladder.

 **< Byleth> **Ah

 **< Sylvain> **he DOES need me

 **< Sylvain> **ok. crisis averted

 **< Dorothea> **But seriously, By - we really are sorry. We had no idea Felix and Angry Gym Guy were the same person.

 **< Sylvain> **we didn’t

 **< Sylvain> **I mean, wow, he mentioned rear-ending someone last year, but I never put two and two together

 **< Sylvain> **and he terrorizes the gym folk???

 **< Sylvain> **I have learned so many things this night

 **< Dorothea> **Do you want me to come over?

Byleth appreciated the offer, as unnecessary as it was. Because Dorothea would do it, if asked; she would drop everything in a heartbeat and take the train to Byleth’s apartment. She’d bring wine and chocolate and bad movies and they would spend all night doing nothing but singing along to the bad show tunes and drinking (and eating) more than was good for them. 

But truth be told, she hadn’t had high hopes for this date in the first place. Having it end before it began… well, at least this way, they would skip over the awkward part where both of them ran out of things to say halfway through the salad. Looked at one way, it was almost a blessing in disguise.

 **< Byleth> **That’s okay - thanks, though 

**< Byleth> **I think I’m gonna spend some time catching up on the kids’ project ideas 

**< Byleth> **Maybe grade a few bits of homework

Dorothea and Sylvain wished her luck, apologizing at least two more times before she managed to set her phone aside and finally get to driving home. They were good people, those two; she was lucky to have met them during her first year teaching. 

It had been the first day of classes, and Byleth had already been overwhelmed. Student teaching had been one thing, and she’d felt confident in her abilities then. But being _in charge_ of a group of almost-adults whose interest in her class ranged from let-me-dedicate-my-life-to-this to what-even-is-this-shit? Having to teach them, and give them grades, and help them prepare for their lives as adults? That was something else entirely.

Dorothea had seen her sitting alone in the teacher workroom during the lunch hour, head in her hands, and had taken pity on her. 

“Rough first day?” she had asked.

“How can you tell?” Byleth had asked.

Dorothea had laughed and offered her a cookie, and that had been that - the start of a beautiful friendship. Sylvain had come along a semester later, taking over after the unexpected departure of one of the members of the English department at Dorothea’s recommendation, and it had been Byleth’s turn to take pity on a new teacher cowering in the break room during lunch.

Her thoughts soured as she exited the highway, turning onto the road that led to her apartment complex. How had Sylvain and Dorothea - two perfectly normal, good people - managed to befriend someone like Angry Gym Guy?

She snorted; she really needed to stop calling him that, now that she knew his name. 

Then again, seeing how much it had irked him… 

Sylvain had mentioned that he and Felix were childhood friends; it didn’t seem possible, all things considered. The two of them just seemed so… so _different._ Sylvain had his faults, sure, but he was a generally friendly, easygoing individual. 

And Dorothea? Smiling, laughing, effortlessly friendly Dorothea? Byleth was almost curious to find out how their first meeting had gone. Almost - were this any other guy, she’d be hammering her friend for details. 

But this was Angry Gym Guy, and so Byleth gave no fucks.

She pulled into her complex’s parking lot - at a perfectly reasonable speed - and hopped out, trudging back up the walk to her building. Her neighbor, a guy around her age named Claude, was sitting on the tiny bit of lawn outside his living room. He raised an eyebrow at her as she passed, sipping at the cup of tea in his hands.

“Short date,” he mused.

“No date,” Byleth shot back.

He whistled, shaking his head. “Bummer, man,” he said. 

She shrugged, fiddling around in her purse to try and find where she’d stashed her keys. “I think it saved me a good deal of grief, actually,” she said. 

“Care to elaborate?”

“No.” Claude gave her a look over the rim of his mug, the one that said he knew she was full of shit, and she relented. “Fine. I knew the guy.”

“Past hook-up?”

“Angry gym acquaintance.” 

“Oh, shit.”

“Yeah.”

“So you took off?”

“It was mutual.”

As soon as the words left her mouth, Byleth paused. 

Had it been? She played the scene back in her head, trying to remember it as best she could. Felix definitely hadn’t tried to stop her from leaving, but there’d been a certain… hesitancy. Almost like he’d wanted to say something, but hadn’t known what, exactly, he was trying to convey. And then she’d stormed off, effectively taking whatever opportunity he might have had to figure it out with her.

Odd.

“Ah, well - next time, then.”

There wouldn’t be a next time, not if Byleth had anything to say about it. But she gave Claude what she hoped was a winning smile and pushed into her apartment anyway, letting him think whatever he wished of her dating life.

Once inside, she slumped against the door with a soft sigh, letting her head thump back against the wood. Her eyes slipped shut as she took in the familiar noises of her apartment - the low hum of the refrigerator, the gentle whirring of the fan, Sothis’ heavy breaths across the room. She peeked an eye open to see if the dog had registered her presence.

The insolent creature hadn’t even bothered to open an eye.

“I got you an appointment at the vet next Sunday,” she announced, trying to get a reaction. “You’re due for two shots.” 

Sothis lifted her head, shooting Byleth a look that could only be described as baleful, before promptly going back to sleep.

“Or we could not go. I hear kennel cough is all the rage.”

Sothis actually stood up, turned around, and sat back down again so that her back was to Byleth, head tucked in against her shoulder.

Byleth huffed out a laugh, shaking her head. 

She really couldn’t catch a break tonight, could she?

Pushing off the door, she padded down the hall to her bedroom. There was nothing graceful to her actions as she pried off the sandals and bracelets, and the dress ended up in a wad at the foot of her hamper. She’d pick it up later. Maybe.

For now, all she wanted was a hot bath and then her promised ice cream sandwich.

The tile was cold on her bare feet as she slipped across the hall and into the bathroom. So she turned the water as hot as it would go before filling the tub, throwing in one of the bath bombs Mercedes had given her for her birthday for good measure. 

Soon enough, lavender-scented steam filled the room, and Byleth sighed in contentment. This was more like it, she thought, reaching for a tie to pull her hair up into a messy knot atop her head. Who needed dates, when you could have _baths_? 

Her phone buzzed where she’d left it on the counter. After a cursory glance to make sure it wasn’t someone from work, she set it back down, heading instead for the beckoning warmth of the tub.

Just as she was about to put her foot inside, her phone buzzed again.

And again.

And _again._

Byleth frowned, turning back towards the counter. Was someone calling her? But no, the vibrations had been too far apart for that. It had been text messages, a short succession of them, from someone who clearly wanted to speak to her. 

But she hadn’t recognized the number. 

It hadn’t been in her contacts.

Wrong number, maybe? Spam messages?

She didn’t particularly feel like dealing with either. But on the off chance that it was someone she knew…

Rolling her eyes, Byleth grabbed the phone and set it on the floor by the tub, where she could more easily reach it. She’d answer it - eventually. For now, she was intent on actually experiencing the bath she’d drawn. 

It was heaven, a groan torn from her lips the second she touched the water, the heady blend of essential oils and steam and heat doing a good deal to elevate her crummy mood. Were baths always this good, she wondered? Or was today’s just particularly exquisite? She’d have to ask Mercedes where she’d gotten the bath bomb; it was definitely a contributing factor.

She laid back, resting her head against the little pillow she’d found on sale at the little boutique Dorothea loved dragging her to. It was easily the best ten gold she’d ever spent, a fact she was reminded of every time she took a bath.

She should go back there sometime - see what other kind of things they had. Maybe she could find one of those fancy loofahs, the ones with the handle that let you wash your back. Oh, or maybe she could find one of those tray table things, the ones you could set over the rim of the tub so you could read, or set a glass of wine on, or -

Eyes that had started drooping shut snapped open as her phone buzzed yet _again._

“You’ve got be kidding me,” she huffed, reaching for the offending device. 

She unlocked it and navigated to her messages, intent on letting whoever this was know that she was _not in the mood_ and to try again later - or never. Whichever suited them best. 

But then she actually read the messages, and her anger faded away, replaced with incredulity.

 **< Unknown Number> **You’re better than me

 **< Unknown Number> **At running

 **< Unknown Number> ** That’s why you’re so annoying 

**< Unknown Number> **Not just because you took my treadmill

 **< Unknown Number> **I don’t like losing

Was this… was this _Felix?_

No, Byleth reminded herself - Angry Gym Guy. No need to get attached. 

It _was_ \- she could see their earlier conversation, where they'd discussed where and when to meet up for their not-date, above the more recent messages.

But wait - losing? Had they ever been competing? Sure, he’d run beside her a couple of times - the gym got busy in winter, and you had to take what you could get - but they’d not spoken or made eye contact or… you couldn’t just compete with someone if they didn’t know about it! 

**< Byleth> **How did you lose to me, pray tell? We've never raced

She moved to set her phone aside, not really expecting a response - it had been a good twenty minutes since his first few texts, after all. But almost immediately, three little dots appeared at the bottom of her screen, a clear indication that he was texting her back.

 **< Unknown Number> **If you run beside me, you’re racing against me

Oh, how _typical_. 

**< Byleth> **Well, I wasn’t trying to beat you. I was just trying to get a run in.

 **< Unknown Number> **You went up to an 8.0 as soon as I got there

 **< Byleth> **Wait, are you referencing a SPECIFIC instance

 **< Unknown Number> **You finished at a 10.0

< **Unknown Number > **No one runs that fast unless they’re racing

 **< Byleth> **Goddess, you are…

 **< Unknown Number> **Don’t pretend you don’t know when I’m talking about

She didn’t. She really didn’t.

Because, like the average person, she wrote off her visits to the gym as soon as they were done. Maybe, if she’d gone particularly hard and was sore the next day, she’d lament her choices while curled in a ball under her heating pad. 

But keeping track of them like Felix was-

 **< Byleth> **Ok, when was this

 **< Byleth> **What date

 **< Unknown Number> **Fuck you, I don’t remember it that well

 **< Byleth> **Rough guess

 **< Unknown Number> **Spring. Last year

She thought back, trying to recall if she’d been doing a program or something that would have caused her to run more aggressively than usual. She’d done the Fhirdiad marathon with Catherine that year - could that have been it? It was the right time of year… 

Come to think of it, that had been a particularly busy winter for the gym. Snow and sleet had made for a rush of new members, and all of them had clamored for the treadmills. 

Maybe in her aggravation she’d gone a little harder than normal.

 **< Byleth> **I was training for a marathon

 **< Byleth> **I was probably practicing my kick or something

 **< Byleth> **Not racing you

 **< Unknown Number> **Well you still fucking beat me

 **< Byleth> **Then maybe you should get good

 _That_ seemed to shut him up. 

Satisfied, she set the phone down once it became apparent that he wasn’t going to immediately text her back. But by now the water had gone cold, and all of the steam had dissipated. So with a reluctant sigh, she pulled the plug and stood, reaching for a towel. 

Angry Gym Guy still hadn’t said anything by the time she’d changed into pajamas and padded into the kitchen. She wasn’t sure she expected him to - but if she knew one thing about the guy, it was that he was competitive, and she’d as good as issued him a challenge. He’d answer her eventually. And when he did -

When he did, what?

Byleth paused, halfway through her ice cream sandwich. 

Did she answer him back? Keep the conversation going? The best thing to do would be to block his number and delete the conversation. Forget it ever happened, sweep it under the rug. 

Because here was the thing - Angry Gym Guy was hot. _Really_ hot. Like toothpaste ad, parents were supermodels, let-me-climb-that-like-a-tree hot. 

But he was also an ass. 

So was it worth it? 

Was it?

Her phone buzzed again.

 **< Unknown Number> **Race me for real, and then you can talk

An unsurprising offer, all things considered.

She was also almost certain to lose, given how little training she’d done recently. 

Her fingers tapped out a reply before she let herself think twice.

 **< Byleth> **Fine - if you’re so eager to lose

< **Byleth > **Again, apparently. Since we “raced” before

 **< Unknown Number> **The gym. Next Friday. The treadmills by the locker rooms.

What was this, a drug deal? Would they need a secret handshake to prove it was really them? She snorted at the thought, finishing up her ice cream and throwing away the wrapper. As if anyone else would even be there - the gym was notoriously dead on Fridays, most people choosing dinner and cocktails over squats and deadlifts.

But as it happened, Friday was typically her least busy day of the week.

Angry Gym Guy was in luck.

 **< Byleth> **Fine

 **< Unknown Number> **Fine

She set her phone down, convinced that this really was the end of the conversation - a hypothesis confirmed when the next ten minutes passed without her receiving a single message.

Sothis, who had smelled a treat the minute Byleth had started eating, bumped her nose into Byleth’s knee, demanding her share of the ice cream.

“I already finished,” Byleth said. 

Sothis nudged her again, a whine escaping her mouth.

“Oh, fine. You persuaded me.” 

It hadn’t taken much - one sandwich was hardly enough for a meal. Dragging another out of the freezer, she scooped out a bit of ice cream and let Sothis lick it off her fingers. 

“I should delete his number. Right?” she mused. She took a bite, finishing off the chocolate cookie she hadn’t given to Sothis to eat. “That’s what Dorothea would do. That's what any smart person would do.”

Sothis pulled back, licking at her snout to get all of the treat off her fur.

“I mean I’m not going to actually date Angry Gym Guy. Or fuck him.”

The look Sothis shot her - so full of disdain - seemed more human than dog.

“I’m not," she insisted.

Sothis snorted before returning to her bed to wash her feet. She clearly wasn’t convinced.

The problem, Byleth thought, biting at her lower lip, was that neither was she.


	3. Chapter 3

“You’re out of shape.”

Byleth glared up at Catherine through her bangs. “You don’t say,” she wheezed, putting her hands on her knees.

“Don’t hurt yourself,” her friend cautioned, handing her a bottle of water. “Pushing yourself too hard is just as bad as not pushing yourself hard enough.”

Byleth took it, sucking half of it down in one greedy gulp. 

"You haven't done a workout like that in, what, six months?"

"A year," Byleth corrected. She shook her head, trying to get the bits of hair sticking to her sweaty skin to come loose.

It didn't work. 

Catherine snorted, sitting down in the grass. “Yeah, you're gonna hate your life come Saturday," she muttered, stretching both of her legs out in front of her and reaching for her toes. 

Byleth mimicked her - though it was less of a sit and more of a plop. Her legs felt like jelly, barely able to support her weight after what she’d just asked them to do. It was her own fault, really - she’d been keeping up with her runs as best as she could in her limited free time, but she hadn’t had a chance to get in many workouts. When you only had thirty minutes before you had to dash to class, mile repeats weren’t exactly high on your list of priorities. 

She was paying for that now. 

She’d paid for it tomorrow, too, after she pushed herself to the limit again when she raced Angry Gym Guy. 

“So I don’t get this guy,” Catherine announced, looking over at Byleth. “You run out on the date - and he texts you half an hour later to tell you you’re better at running than him? And then he challenges you to a _race_?” She shook her head. “What the fuck.”

“He’s... competitive.”

A _vast_ understatement.

“And you just - _accepted_.”

“Hey, this is my chance to get him off my back,” Byleth retorted.

Catherine laughed outright at that.

“If I can win this, maybe he’ll finally accept that I’m better than him," she persisted. "Maybe he'll just… leave me alone.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Stranger things have happened.”

“You know, this guy doesn’t seem like the type to just let something like that go.”

“You think he’ll keep pestering me?”

“You're Rocky, he's Creed. You win this time, he'll just try to knock you out next round.”

Byleth groaned, pulling one of her legs up and tucking it in so she could stretch her hip flexor. “Don’t say that.”

Catherine laughed again, shooting her a look. “Oh, come on, don’t pretend to be so put out.”

Byleth shot her a questioning look, switching legs to stretch out the other. 

The blonde raised an eyebrow, pushing a stray lock of hair out of her face. “Are you really trying to tell me you didn’t want to see him again?” she demanded. “You accepted his dumb offer, after all.” 

“You would’ve done the same thing-”

“I’d’ve told him to eat shit.”

Okay, fair.

She’d questioned why she hadn’t done exactly that several times in the days since she’d last spoken to Felix. She didn’t owe him anything; if he wanted to create this rivalry in his head and feed into it, that was on him. She didn’t have anything to prove.

So why _had_ she accepted his challenge?

The short answer was that she was just as competitive as him; she wasn't about to turn down a challenge from some punk-ass gym rat.

The longer answer was more... complicated.

Much as she hated to admit it, she was intrigued by Angry Gym Guy as much as she was turned off - she saw him almost every time she went to the gym, and yet he was a complete stranger to her. He was friends with two of her closest friends, but somehow they’d never been properly introduced. She wanted to know more, even as she convinced herself that it wasn’t a good idea.

And maybe, just maybe, she did want to see him again. 

Maybe she wanted to get his shirt off so she could see what those tattoos were. Maybe she wanted to yank out that perfect ponytail he was always wearing, curl her fingers in that stupidly pretty hair, and _pull_. Maybe she-

Or maybe she just needed a new vibrator. 

“Do you think you can win?”

Catherine's question helped her re-center her thoughts, and Byleth considered.

She was good at running - always had been. Her gait was naturally strong, and she had a good sense for when to push the pace and when to hold steady. It had made her a technical opponent when she’d competed in both cross country and track and field in high school, hard to read and harder to beat. That winning record had gone on to earn her an athletic scholarship to one of the top-tier running programs in the country. 

A few people had cried nepotism, considering her dad had been the coach. But that crowd had been a small, select group. Most people had agreed that she’d earned her way in. 

Besides, they argued, Jeralt Eisner wouldn't play favorites. Not even with his own kid. He'd have put Byleth through the ringer before letting her just walk onto the team.

And fuck, but he had. In the four years he coached her, he pushed her to her limits, mentally and physically. She’d stress fractured out one season, and the pressure of taking the team to the division championships her senior year while trying to finish up student teaching had nearly done her in. 

It had been worth it, though, to see the look of pride he’d given her as she crossed that finish line after the last relay, lungs heaving, legs quivering, sweat dripping down her face. She’d do it all again for the slap on the back he’d given her, the “ _Nice work, kid,_ ” he’d shot her, the corners of his lips turned up into a smile - the sincerest of praise, coming from him.

She’d give anything to hear him say it again.

In the couple of years after she’d graduated, she’d shifted to longer distances; it was only practical. Distance races were all the rage these days, major cities hosting several a year. A fifteen hundred meter dash, on the other hand? Not so common. 

She’d started small, with a couple of the local half-marathons. They were fun, she’d found, challenging in a different sort of way. The competition was more friendly, and the atmosphere was magnetic. After winning a few of the races, Catherine had suggested she try for the full twenty-six miles. So she’d signed up for the Fhirdiad marathon, submitting the time of her latest half-marathon along with her entry fee.

To her great surprise, she’d been sent a seeded bib.

“What did you expect?” Catherine had demanded. "You can run faster than some people can ride a bike."

“There must be a mistake,” she’d said, dumbfounded. “I’m not a professional, Cat, I’m - I’m _retired._ ”

Catherine had rolled her eyes and clapped her on the back. “Take the win, By. Just take it.”

Good advice, as it had turned out - five months later, she’d taken first place in the amateur women’s division. 

So yeah, she was good at running.

But was she _still_ that good, or had she let her training slip too far? 

Goddess, she hoped she still had it in her.

“You’re doing it again.”

Byleth blinked, turning back to Catherine. “Doing what?”

“That thing you do where someone asks you a question, and you just stare off into space, all zoned out... Bit creepy, really.”

Byleth made a face, and Catherine laughed. “I was just thinking about your question,” she said. “Whether or not I can win.”

“Wait, seriously?" Catherine frowned. "You're not sure, with all those medals hanging on your wall?"

"That was a while ago, Cat-"

"You know what you're gonna do? You're gonna stomp his ass." 

“I plan to.”

"Otherwise, all this last minute training was for nothing."

Catherine had her there.

“So don’t you go easy on him.”

Byleth frowned. “When have I _ever_ gone easy on anyone?”

She could distinctly remember at least one race where she'd had to elbow a girl in the face when the bitch had been trying to push her out of bounds. 

You had to stake your territory, and Byleth was no pushover.

"You're saying you wouldn't?"

"Of course not. I want to win this."

"...so wait, this isn't just like foreplay for you guys?"

" _What?"_

Catherine shrugged. "If I'm being honest, I kinda thought the whole thing was like... pretext. A prelude to the main event."

Byleth's mouth worked furiously for a solid minute as she tried to think up an answer to that. 

"I have _killed_ myself this week trying to get back into some semblance of running shape," she finally spluttered. 

"Well, yeah - gotta make it look like you're trying."

"This is not - I am _not_ doing this race so I can fuck Angry Gym Guy."

"...not foreplay, then."

"I'm doing this to _win."_

"You sure about that?"

“Are you hungry?" Byleth interjected. "I'm hungry. You wanna grab a pizza? I’ll buy.”

“Oh, hell yeah!” 

Catherine was easily distracted - especially by the promise of food. Byleth knew this, and used it to her full advantage at least twice a week.

She felt no guilt for doing so now, desperate to get away from this conversation and back into more familiar, neutral territory.

Pushing herself to her feet, she extended a hand down to her friend. "Come on, then - it's almost rush hour."

"Let's go, then. And I saw what you did there."

Byleth shot her a cheeky grin, grabbing her things from where she'd stashed them a few feet away. As they walked to where their cars were parked, she pulled out her phone to check for messages. There weren’t any, of course - or, at least, none from a certain unknown number. Nothing confirming their race tomorrow, no trash talking, no jibes. 

She hadn’t expected any, really. Felix’s brand was haughty disdain - not smack talk. 

Still. 

A part of her had thought that maybe, just maybe-

 _No_ , she told herself, shaking her head as she shoved her gym bag into the backseat of her car. _You do not want him to text you. You do not want him to call you, or talk to you, or throw you on the bed and-_

“Spinelli’s?”

Saved by the sweet, sweet sound of their favorite pizzeria.

Goddess, this was bad.

She nodded, grateful for the save Catherine didn’t even know she’d given her.

“Spinelli’s.”

* * *

“Shit.”

It was the only word for it, really - Byleth’s current situation.

The empty gym parking lot should’ve been her first clue. Because Friday’s were normally pretty slow, but for the entire lot to be clear of cars? Unusual. 

The second clue should’ve been the crew of workers around the back of the building, investigating what looked like a busted fire hydrant gushing water onto the sidewalk. Also unusual.

But she’d not noticed these things until she’d actually pulled into a spot in front of the gym. Instead, her eyes had been entirely focused on the lone man sitting on the curb outside the entrance, tapping angrily on his phone. 

Felix.

“Shit,” she said again, getting out of her car. 

He looked up as she approached. The expression on his face could’ve turned paint - but she didn’t think it was directed at her. No, for once, she didn't think she had anything to do with his ire. 

“What happened?” she asked, motioning towards the work crew.

“Fuck if I know,” he snapped.

Eh, she supposed it was on her for expecting a more civilized response.

“The gym’s closed for the weekend," he continued. "Their water line connected to that pipe, I guess, so there’s no water in the building.”

“Oh. I see.” 

“Fucking idiots.”

Byleth frowned. “Who?”

“Whoever beaned that hydrant,” he said, as if this was obvious. “How the fuck do you hit a fire hydrant?” 

“I doubt it was on purpose.”

He snorted. “Yeah, whatever.” He pushed to his feet, dusting off his hands and slipping his phone into a pocket. “Are you ready?”

She blinked.

What?

“Felix, the gym is closed,” she said slowly, eyes drifting over to the building’s darkened interior. 

“I know that.”

“...I’m not breaking into the gym for this.”

He shot her a scandalized look. “Who said anything about breaking into the gym?”

Well, no one. But he looked determined to have this race, and she’d be willing to bet he’d broken a lock or two in his day.

Just a hunch.

“We’re in a fucking parking lot. We can just run here.”

Byleth blanched. “Um, no.”

He scowled. “Why not?”

She waved a hand behind her, to the other stores that shared this particular complex. “Just because the _gym_ is closed doesn’t mean the parking lot is closed,” she said, surprised she even had to explain this. 

He crossed his arms over his chest. “So?”

“So I’m not getting hit by a car for you.”

He rolled his eyes. “Just pay attention and you won’t _get_ hit by a car.”

“I - no.” She shook her head. “No. I am not playing leapfrog with minivans.”

He huffed out a breath, annoyed. “Then you figure it out.”

Of course, of _course_ this was falling to her, his sole contribution to the list of alternatives one that was prohibitively dangerous.

But hey, she prided herself on being a problem solver. She could figure this out.

What options did they have? 

They could postpone their race, and wait for the gym to re-open. That seemed to be the most reasonable plan, and it would give her more time for her last-minute training sessions with Catherine. She wasn’t sure Felix would go for it, though; he seemed ready to go. Even the gym closing early hadn’t fazed him.

Alternatively, they could try and find somewhere else to run. There were several parks nearby, most of which had running trails and paths. But they were sure to be busy on a Friday night, people taking advantage of the warming spring weather to get in a good workout or walk their dogs. She didn’t relish the thought of vying for space with a bunch of joggers and walkers - nor, if she were being honest, did she trust Felix to not push people out of the way. 

The final option was to cancel - which had its perks. Byleth was still sore from the previous day’s run, and she knew she wasn’t at her best. If they just called it quits now, she could go home, order some take-out, and spend the rest of the night binging that show Dorothea had recommended. 

Alone.

By herself. 

It was surprisingly unappealing.

She frowned, considering. There _had_ to be another option here. One that would suit their needs without putting either them or the good people of this corner of Fodlan in harm's way- 

It hit her like a ton of bricks, so obvious she nearly started.

What if she took Felix to the school track?

It wasn’t exactly open to the public, sure, but she’d also not seen any signage indicating that it _couldn’t_ be used by anyone other than students. Hell, that’s where she and Catherine had done their workouts earlier in the week, and since the football game this week was away, it would be practically deserted on a Friday night. 

This could work.

Having decided on a plan of action, she started to head back to her car.

“Follow me,” she threw back over her shoulder. "And _don't_ ride my bumper."

Felix grumbled something that definitely involved a few choice swear words, but followed her instructions nonetheless, waiting for her to pull out of the parking lot before sliding into traffic behind her. 

It was a short drive from the gym to the school - that was actually the main reason she’d picked this particular facility when she’d first moved to town. She’d be able to go early and get a run in before she headed to work, she reasoned, or stop by on her way back to her apartment. The early morning runs hadn’t quite worked out - she liked her sleep, thank you very much - but it was nice to have a facility so close. It was very convenient for the days when it was raining and she’d otherwise talk herself out of going entirely.

The entire drive took them all of ten minutes - Felix riding her ass all the while.

He'd done it on purpose; she could tell by the smug look he shot her when she glared at him in the rearview mirror.

It had almost made her want to brake check him. 

But only almost - she really couldn't afford another hike on her insurance.

Just as she’d predicted, the high school was mostly empty. A few cars remained, parked close to the doors - teachers, she presumed, or the few students who waited on their parents to pick them up after work. But the lot by the track was completely empty, and she was able to score a spot right by the front gate.

Felix pulled in beside her, lifting an eyebrow in question as she got out of her car.

“A track?”

“Did you have a better idea?” she demanded.

He didn’t answer, looking back towards the track with a blank look on his face. 

She frowned, stepping forward to stretch her calf muscles against the rim of her tire. “Something wrong?” she asked, not used to a Felix who didn't immediately throw back a retort.

“I went to school here.”

Oh. 

Well, that made sense - it was the only high school in the area. It would also explain the hesitation; if there were bad memories involved, maybe he hadn’t wanted to ever come back here. But he didn’t seem put off or upset - it was more… she didn’t know how to describe it.

Wistful? 

Was that right?

Huh.

“Did you run?” she asked.

His eyes flicked towards her, dark with something she couldn’t name. 

“For the team,” she clarified, jerking her head towards the track. “I hear they’re pretty good-”

“No.”

She nearly bit her tongue, her mouth snapped shut so quick. 

So much for trying to make conversation. 

“Are you done?” he asked.

With her stretches? Or with trying to make conversation? It wasn't immediately apparent which he meant. 

She straightened, putting her hands on her hips. “How do you want to do this?” she asked. 

“One mile run,” he replied. “Inside lanes, no elbows.”

She nodded, accepting these terms. “Spikes or flats?”

It was his turn to pause, something she’d said finally making him consider. She almost smirked at the look on his face, that realization that hey, maybe she knew a little bit about running here. 

If only he knew.

“Do you have spikes?”

“Wouldn’t leave home without them.”

“Then spikes.” 

She opened the back door of her car, reaching for the bag she knew was stuffed in the corner of the backseat. It wasn’t pretty - she’d last worn these on a field course during the pouring rain, and they were covered in leftover mud and grass. The smell alone was enough to knock you out - she had to hold her breath while putting them on, and even then she wasn’t entirely spared. 

As if their scent had drawn him out, Felix came round her car, his nose wrinkled in disgust. “What‘s that smell?”

Byleth lifted a foot, showing off her dirt encrusted shoes. 

“That’s disgusting.”

She shrugged, standing up carefully so her weight was focused in her heels and not on her toes - the part of the sole bearing said spikes. 

“They’re spikes,” she replied. “They’re meant to get dirty.”

“They smell like something crawled up in them and died.”

Fair. 

She shrugged. “They get the job done.”

“Don’t spike me - you’d probably give me tetanus.”

“They’re _dirty_ , not rusty.”

“Some other communicable disease, then.”

Byleth ignored this probably deserved slight, heading towards the gate to the track. As usual, it was ajar, the chain meant to keep it locked up tight hanging loose, and she slipped inside without much effort. 

Felix snorted at the sight of it. “The security at this place is awful.”

She lifted an eyebrow. “What would anyone bother to steal? The football pennies?” 

“If they went to the trouble of putting up a gate, they should lock it.” 

“Because a lock deters someone from hopping over a fence that’s only four feet tall.”

He grumbled at that, but couldn’t really fault her logic. 

Small victories. 

Byleth set her keys and phone down at the side of the track, pulling a tie off her wrist to pin back her hair. Across the way, Felix did the same with his belongings; he then pointedly did _not_ in her direction before heading off for a few warm-up laps. 

She glared at his back - asshole. He could’ve waited. 

But then again, this gave her the opportunity to study his form/ass, and she wasn’t one to look a gift horse in the mouth. 

Her muscles protesting all the while, she eased into a jog, keeping her pace nice and steady as she made her way around the track. She kept to the outside lane, forcing herself not to speed up even as Felix came back around to lap her. Let him tire himself out before they’d even started - see if she cared.

His technique was good, though - he had the proper rolling movement that prevented ankle strain down, and his gait wasn’t over- or under-extended. His arms were loose, elbows tucked in close to his torso, and his neck and shoulders were nice and relaxed. 

Even Jeralt would’ve been impressed - by his form, at least. 

That attitude, on the other hand, would've had him less than enthusiastic.

Felix finished before her, moving off to the grass and going through his own set of stretches as she finished up her last lap. She could feel his eyes on her as she finally came to a stop, and his eyes narrowed as she forsook the normal routine to shake out her legs and arm. She half-thought he’d make some snide remark, some comment on how she’d been going too slow or not taking this seriously - but if he had one to make he kept it to himself.

Byleth ignored him as she quietly began her own pre-race routine. It was different than most other people's she'd met; for one, she didn’t like to stretch after the warm-up. It made her feel too loose, too relaxed, like she was finished for the day when she was really just getting started. She preferred active movements instead - a few jumps to get her quads burning, a couple squats, a handful of lunges. She did all of these in the space of a minute, trying to focus on how her body moved, how she felt, and not the nervous energy skittering through her limbs. 

One breath, two - in and out, in and out, in through the nose and out through the mouth. 

She swung her arms out one last time, shrugging her shoulders up and back. Her feet were next; she rolled each ankle, making sure each foot felt well placed in her shoes. Last, but not least, she reached up and pulled her ponytail tight, making sure the band was good and taut.

There. She was ready.

Byleth moved to the starting line, taking position in the first lane. Four laps - just four laps around the track. She could do this; she just needed to focus.

In college, she'd been a miler - it was her specialty, and her favorite event. There were several strategies she’d used over the years to win. 

She could go all out from the get-go, setting a relentless pace and never letting up on the gas. It was risky, though; she could burn out halfway through and fizzle out, barely able to stumble across the line. A safer bet was to start off at a fast pace, but keep a little energy in reserve for the last lap. She could start to kick with four hundred meters to go, pushing a little harder with each turn and striding it out along the back stretch. It was technically more difficult; negative splits were hard to do in a race this distance, and speeding up for the very last lap? Harder still. She could do it, though; she knew her body well enough to know it would do this, if she asked.

The question was, would Felix do the same?

It was difficult to say. Judging another runner was always hard until you got out on the track and saw them in action.

She didn't have much longer to contemplate it. He joined her a few moments later, taking the spot to her right. He’d changed into a pair of running spikes, the shoes a surprisingly bright yellow. They clashed with the rest of his outfit, all muted shades of blue and gray. 

She must have stared longer than she’d intended, for the next thing she knew Felix was demanding to know why. 

“What are you looking at?”

“Your shoes,” she said, without thinking.

He snorted. “They’re just spikes.”

“They’re _neon_.”

“That’s the only color they came in.”

“You could see them from _space-_ ”

“They’re still better than your garbage shoes.”

Again, fair.

“Enough talking - let’s get started.” 

“Do you have a timer?” she asked. 

He held up his arm, tapping a few buttons on a watch on his wrist. She supposed that was as much of an answer as she was going to get. 

Turning back to the front, she set her feet - right leg forward, bearing most of her weight, left leg back. She fixed her gaze on the track, focusing on the tread beneath her feet. Her muscles were tensed, ready for the call to get started, to get running, to-

“Go!”

It wasn’t much of a count-down - wasn’t much of one at all, really - but Byleth had been ready for just this. She sprang forward, arms pumping as she worked to get up to a good speed. Beside her, Felix did the same, matching her stride for stride. Together, they started to race around the oval of the track, neither able to gain much ground on the other.

It was a fast pace, faster than Byleth had intended. Her breath started coming in pants as she rounded the last corner into the home stretch, a familiar burn settling into her thighs. 

Goddess, she’d missed that feeling.

Running made her feel alive in a way few things ever had. She couldn’t quite explain it - to many people, running felt something like dying, but for her, it had always been like a breath of fresh air. The ache in her legs, the wind in her face, the gasp of her lungs as she sucked down oxygen… it all combined into a heady mixture of power and adrenaline, and she didn’t think she’d ever get enough. 

Elated, she pressed on.

Her efforts at continuing to push the pace were successful. Towards the end of the second lap, she managed to pull ahead by a fraction of a second. It was a small lead - Felix was still pushing hard. But she had a feeling he’d gone out too hard - his breathing was more labored than hers, his feet slapping on the track as he strained his gait to try and keep up with her.

The third lap, her lead grew from a few inches to a few feet. Felix was really slowing down now, the pace she was setting too much, too fast. She felt the pain too; her legs were screaming now, the lactic acid making her legs feel leaden and slow. But there was just one lap to go, just one more time round the track.

She could do this.

She could _win_ this.

The finish line came and went one last time, and she was rounding the curve into the back stretch. She'd lost track of Felix entirely now, her mind tuning everything else out as she focused on this last bit of race. One more step, one more step - it was a mantra she repeated in her head over and over, quicker and quicker, urging herself on even as her body wanted to quit. She’d pay for this tomorrow, oh, she’d be _so_ dead, but the finish line was right there, she was so close-

Byleth flung herself across the line, arms thrown wide, head ducked.

Victory!

She spun, eyes widening when she realized her lead had grown to nearly ten feet by the end of the race. 

Felix wouldn’t like that. 

Sure enough, when he grew close enough that she could see his expression, it was dark as could be, eyes narrowed in anger. 

She put her hands on her hips, taking a few steps forward. Each one was a struggle, her heart pounding with effort. 

A bit worrisome, that; she wasn't normally so winded after a run. She chalked it up to the competition, putting her hands behind her head.

“You’re good,” Felix grunted, tugging angrily on his hair. “Better than me.” 

“I’ve been doing this - a long time,” she panted. 

“I went out too hard,” he continued, more to himself than to her.

"Yep," she agreed, still gasping for air.

“I should’ve held some back - like you did.” He paused to wipe the sweat out of his face, eyeing her curiously. "How did you get so good?"

“Practice,” she breathed. "Same as - anyone."

He frowned at her stilted speech. “Are you okay?" 

“I’m - fine.”

She most assuredly was not.

She’d gone way too hard, and her kick had been something to rival her best finishes in college. That had to have been a five and a half minute mile; she’d not gone faster than six-thirty pace in _months._

She was light-headed, her vision starting to tunnel. She should sit down, probably, put her head between her legs. 

Or better yet, lay down - yeah, that would be better.

She waved a hand towards the turf inside the track. “I think - I’m gonna lie down.”

“Fuck,” Felix said, taking a step forward. “No, don’t try to lay down, you’ll fall and fucking hit your head-”

“I’m gonna do it.”

“Don’t you dare-”

“I have to-”

“I am _not_ carrying your ass out of here if you faint-”

“Sorry-”

Byleth sat. 

She was out before she hit the ground. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oh NO, now Felix will have to help her up and drive her home, whatever will this mean for the plot 
> 
> Thanks for reading! :)


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is going to be longer than I expected, ah hah hah hah, I'm so sorry

Byleth wasn’t out long.

She never was.

To be truthful, this sort of thing had happened before. Classic overexertion, the doctors had told her; in other words, she had a tendency to go too hard, too fast. Scared the shit out of people when it happened, but it wasn’t serious. So long as she drank plenty of liquids and didn’t injure her head during the fall, she’d be just fine. 

She didn’t think that had happened this time.

At least, she didn’t _feel_ like she’d bumped her head when she’d fallen over. 

... _had_ she fallen over? She couldn’t recall, everything after she’d crossed the finish line a bit of a blur. But she was lying on the grass and not the track itself, and the only aches and pains she felt were those she’d expect after having just run a race.

Maybe Felix had caught her.

He was there now, leaning over her with a half-horrified, half-furious expression on his face. “What the fuck,” he demanded, brows furrowing. 

She blinked, mesmerized by the way his hair was sliding out of his ponytail like ink spilled from a jar. Even now, threatening to come loose, there was an art to it, one she’d never certainly never managed to achieve. 

He was so… _pretty._ And it wasn’t just the hair. It was the bone structure, from the high, angular cheekbones, to the thin, aquiline nose - she’d never noticed the two tiny silver studs embedded in one nostril. And the barbell that went through the opposite eyebrow - had that always been there? She supposed that terrible fringe of his covered it most of the time. It looked self-inflicted. Had he never been to a hairdresser before? 

“Are you listening to me?” 

Her eyes flicked down to his lips, pursed in anger. They were nice lips, she thought - full, but not too full, and they looked soft, plush.

The sort of lips that would be nice to kiss.

“Answer me!”

“No."

He started, eyes widening for just a second before he scowled. “No?” he demanded.

“No, I’m not listening,” she clarified.

He made a frustrated noise, sitting back on his haunches. For a moment, Byleth quietly mourned the loss of a rather stunning view before rolling over onto her side and pushing herself up into a seated position. Her head spun angrily, and she winced, putting a hand to her forehead. 

“What are you doing?” 

A hand landed on her shoulder, firmly pushing her back to the ground. 

“Don’t move yet, idiot. You’ll faint again.”

Still a little befuddled, Byleth obeyed, lying back down in the cool grass. 

Above her, Felix made a frustrated noise. “What the fuck is wrong with you?” he asked. 

“Several things.”

“If you felt like you were going to pass out, you should’ve stopped,” he continued, ignoring her question. “Don’t keep going until you crash.”

“I _did_ feel fine, until I stopped,” she replied quietly. 

“You went too hard,” he insisted.

She raised an eyebrow. “So did you - it’s why you couldn’t beat me.”

“Yeah, but I do this shit all the time,” he threw back. “When was the last time you did this?”

“...it’s been a while.”

He snorted. “That’s what I thought.” He paused for a second, staring down at the ground. His scowl deepened the longer he sat there, and he finally spat out, “And you still fucking beat me.”

Byleth couldn’t help it - she smiled. 

“I did.”

“Don’t get too comfortable,” he warned. “Next time, I’m winning.”

She raised her eyebrows at that. “Next time?”

“Don’t think this is the end of this.”

Oh, she wouldn’t dream of it. 

And hey, maybe if she was feeling charitable, she’d be down to race again one day. After she’d spent some time rebuilding her stamina. 

For now, though, all she wanted was to go lay down on her couch, after she’d eaten something deep-fried and covered in chocolate.

She waved a hand, catching Felix’s attention. 

“Will you hand me my phone?” she asked, pointing in the general direction of where she thought she’d left it. 

“Why?”

“I need to call someone to come pick me up,” she replied. 

Though she hadn’t hit her head, and she felt generally okay, she was a little worse off than her initial assessment had indicated. She felt weak, more than she should after running a race, and still a little light-headed despite lying flat on her back.

There was no way she could drive home like this.

Catherine was out - she and Shamir were on a date, and while the both of them would cancel in a heartbeat to come and help Byleth out, she didn’t want them to have to do that on her account. Dorothea was out, too - she was getting drinks with a guy she knew from undergrad, and from the excited way she’d talked about the date, Byleth knew she wouldn’t be available for at least a few hours. 

Sylvain was perhaps the biggest gamble - easily the most social of their friend group, it was a rare Friday night that he wasn’t out and about. Her chances of getting a hold of him were slim. But, she reasoned, the night was still young, the bars still relatively quiet.

It was worth a shot.

Felix was staring at her, silent, not having moved even a little towards where she’d pointed.

Byleth frowned. “Did you hear me?”

“I can take you home.”

That…

That was - 

“Oh, no,” she said quickly. “I couldn’t ask you to do that.”

“You didn’t,” he snapped. “I offered.”

Ah.

He had her there.

“I was going to ask Sylvain to do it,” she said, changing tack. “He lives pretty close to me, too-”

“Can’t.” 

“What?”

“Sylvain can’t take you home because he’s on a date,” Felix said flatly. “I know, because he wouldn’t fucking shut up about it.”

“I doubt that,” Byleth replied. 

“Call him then,” he challenged. “See if he picks up.”

She frowned at how confident he sounded. “He would have told me,” she said, uncertainty creeping into her voice. “Like you said, he can’t _not_ talk about it-”

Felix made a frustrated noise. “He didn’t tell you because the person he’s taking on a date is Dorothea.”

...what?

She paused, processing this information. 

Her first instinct was to deny it, because if Sylvain hadn’t told her, surely Dorothea _would_ have. Dorothea told her _everything,_ the sordid details of her love life included _._

But then she reconsidered. 

Sylvain and Dorothea were friends first - maybe they wanted to test the waters before making anything official, see if they had something worth risking the friendship over. There were a hundred reasons a relationship wouldn’t work out, after all, and if they weren’t sure if this would last, what was the point of telling anyone else? 

Dorothea hadn’t even really been dishonest. She’d said she was going out for drinks with a guy from undergrad. She and Sylvain _did_ know each other from undergrad.

She looked back to Felix, who was staring at her expectantly.

“Huh,” she offered.

“...that’s it?”

She laid her head back down, staring up at the sky. “What else am I supposed to say?”

“Two of your best friends are fucking.”

“Well, so long as everything’s consensual-”

“You’re not surprised by this?”

“Honestly?” She shrugged. “They have a lot in common. I can see it working.” She looked back just in time to see Felix roll his eyes. “You disagree?”

“I -” He broke off with a huff. “No.”

“Then why the dramatics?”

“They’re both my friends,” he snapped. “Which side do I pick if one of them inevitably fucks something up?”

Ah. 

He didn’t want to be put in the middle if something happened. She could understand that; she’d likely be put in a very similar position, were things to go south. But she also wasn’t about to jinx a relationship that hadn’t even started yet by worrying about its potential demise.

“Maybe nothing will happen,” she offered. 

Felix made a noncommittal noise. 

“Maybe they’ll be happy and get married and make babies and go on to live happily ever after. Maybe it will all just… work out.”

They deserved it; Goddess, if two people deserved a happy ending after all the shit they’d been through in life, it was those two. 

“Nothing ever just works out,” he muttered darkly, pushing himself to his feet.

Byleth sighed; angry _and_ a pessimist. 

Such a winning combo.

But a moment later, he stuck a hand into her face and helped her to her feet, so maybe he wasn’t _all_ bad. 

Together, they hobbled over to Felix’s car, where he helped her into the passenger seat before going back to retrieve their belongings from the track. She’d warmed to the idea of him taking her home - or at least, she’d recognized that with Sylvain out for the night, she was left with few viable alternatives. Relaxing back into the sun-warmed leather seat, she took inventory of her surroundings as she waited. 

The car was clean, but not because its owner was neat; rather, it seemed almost unused, as if Felix spent as little time as possible inside it. A box of cigarettes sat under the console, alongside a lighter and a bit of loose change, and there was a handful of unused napkins stashed in the pocket on her door. But other than that, the car’s interior was almost painfully bare. No receipts, no wadded up take-out bags, none of the odds and ends that one expected to see in a vehicle. 

Nothing.

She found herself wondering if that was just Felix - minimalist, utilitarian, no bells or whistles or primary colors. Would his apartment be full of ultra-modern furniture, all angles and sharp lines? If one were to look in his closet, would they find themselves staring at a variety of t-shirts and leggings in fifty shades of black?

Well.

Fifty shades of black and one _very_ bright pair of neon yellow shoes. 

She found herself curious, once again, about the kind of person she was involving herself with here. 

Felix handed her her phone and keys without ceremony upon his return, dumping his into one of the cupholders before fastening his seatbelt. “What’s your address?”

Byleth gave it to him, watching in silence as he punched it into his phone’s navigation app. Once he’d settled it into the cradle attached to the dashboard, he rolled down a window and grabbed for the pack of cigarettes.

“I’m surprised you smoke.”

He looked over at her, cigarette halfway to his mouth. 

“I’ve just never met another runner who smoked,” she continued. 

He snorted, reaching for his lighter. “If you’re going to lecture me, save it,” he muttered. 

She shrugged. “I don’t mind. Just an observation.”

He hesitated, staring at her - then, with a sigh, he stuffed the cigarette back in the carton and set the lighter aside. 

Huh.

“I tried to quit - once,” he explained once they got out on the road. 

“But…?”

“But my job’s fucking stressful, and if I can’t go outside for fifteen minutes to get away from my boss, I’d-” He snapped his mouth shut, clamping down on whatever he’d been about to say.

“Scream?” Byleth suggested. “Quit on the spot? Throw a paperweight at someone?”

Felix snorted. “Let’s go with all of the above.”

“That bad, huh?” 

Byleth was lucky; the superintendent for their school’s district, a woman named Rhea, was nice enough. A bit motherly, and some of her policies were outdated, but she ultimately left the teachers under her charge to teach as they saw fit. 

“What do you do, exactly?” she asked. “Sylvain didn’t say.”

“Tech, mostly - for the government.”

That was interesting - and not what she’d have pegged as Felix’s occupation. 

“Tech - like IT work?”

He snorted. “Hardly,” he replied. “We’re defense contractors. We work directly with the government of Faerghus to design military equipment.”

“What kind of equipment?”

“Drones. Armored vehicles. One of my cousins is working on some new armor prototype, something like Kevlar, but better.” 

“One of your cousins? What, is it like a family business or something?” Felix nodded. Putting two and two together, she asked, “So does that mean your boss is your-”

He made a noise that was half-assent, half derision.

“Yeah. My old man.”

He didn’t offer anything else, and Byleth didn’t press the subject. Judging from the way he’d clenched his jaw, it wasn’t a topic he particularly cared to discuss. It was just as well; she didn’t really enjoy talking about her family - or lack of one - either.

She fell silent, turning to stare out the window as the scenery passed them by. It wasn’t much of a view; this side of town housed a lot of new developments and shopping centers, and other than the occasional neon logo on a storefront, there was little variation among the swathes of brown, beige, and brick.

“You’re a teacher.”

She turned back to Felix, surprised to hear him speak. “Yes,” she replied. “That’s how I know Sylvain and Dorothea.”

“Of what.”

“...hmm?”

He huffed. “What do you teach?”

“Oh. Twelfth grade economics.”

Felix wrinkled his nose up. “Gross.”

Byleth sighed. “What do you possibly have against the laws of supply and demand?” 

“Nothing. It’s just - boring.”

She begged to differ, but she hardly thought explaining the nuances of how the economies of the world had shaped the politics and history of every known country would do much to change his mind. 

Besides - she only had ten minutes, and that was a _lot_ of ground to cover.

“I’d have thought you’d have studied econ, with what you do.”

“I did,” he replied. “That’s why I know it’s boring.”

Byleth rolled her eyes. Typical.

“And you teach that shit to high schoolers?”

“It’s just an introductory course,” she explained. “One semester. All I cover are the basics. If they want to learn more, they can pursue it in college.”

He snorted. “Like anyone chooses to study that garbage.”

“I did,” she shot back.

“I thought you studied teaching,” he retorted. “Economics was just, what, your concentration?” Surprise must have shown on her face, for he flushed and added, “Don’t look at me like that, I had to listen to Sylvain bitch about it every night for four fucking years, I know how it works.”

“Sylvain was your roommate?”

“Unfortunately.”

Byleth might have taken offense on her friend’s behalf. But this was Sylvain they were talking about. Sylvain, who had regaled them all with tales of his college endeavors in vivid and excruciating detail every time the opportunity presented itself. Sex, alcohol, weed - it was a rare story that didn’t contain some combination of the three, and a few were even wilder. He'd done a lot of growing up since then, but from the sounds of it, the fact that he'd graduated on time at all was nothing short of a miracle.

He’d have been hell as a roommate.

“I have to admit, I have no idea how you two are friends.”

Felix snorted. “Me either.”

“You’re so... different.”

“Thank the Goddess for that.”

“Hey, he’s not _that_ bad.”

He shot her a look. “He had sex on my bed once in college - while I was in it.”

She frowned. “You mean like… a threesome?” 

The car swerved dangerously to the right, and Byleth’s heart leapt into her throat. She grabbed for the door, holding on for dear life as Felix corrected course, the owner of the car he’d almost hit laying angrily on the horn.

“What the fuck,” he spluttered, once he’d regained control of the vehicle. His brows were drawn down into a heavy scowl, but there a flush staining his cheeks. “ _No._ I was fucking _asleep,_ and he brought a girl back when he was deadass drunk, and he mistook my bed for his and they started having _sex on top of me._ ”

Oh.

_Oh._

Byleth couldn’t help it - she choked out a laugh, putting a hand to her mouth when his glare deepened. “I’m sorry,” she said quickly, fighting back a smile. “I shouldn’t laugh, but that’s - that’s awful.” 

“I had to fucking push him off,” he grumbled. “And even then, he just - kept going. In the middle of the floor.”

Dying - she was _dying_ at this mental image. 

She could see why Sylvain had never mentioned this particular occurrence to any of them - they’d all have given him _such_ shit about it.

“What did you do? Please tell me you didn’t stay.”

“Of course not,” he snapped. “I left. Crashed on a friend’s couch.”

“And came back and gave him hell the next morning, I assume.”

“Me and Ingrid both.” At Byleth’s quizzical expression, he added, “The friend whose couch I crashed on.”

“Ah.”

“I think she was even madder than I was.”

Byleth snorted. “I’m not sure I believe that.”

“Whatever. It’s true.”

If he said so.

Soon enough, they were pulling into her parking lot. Byleth found herself scrambling to find the right thing to say even as she directed him towards her building. Thank you? A good option, considering he’d gone out of his way to help her home. Have a night night? Polite, but maybe not the sort of sentiment Felix went out of his way to express.

And then there were the other, more inviting options - do you want to stay for a while? Want to come in for a proverbial coffee?

...she didn’t even know if Felix liked coffee. Metaphorical or otherwise.

She pursed her lips in frustration. Above all, she didn’t want to make things weird - things had been a little tense back at the track, sure, but the drive had been… surprisingly pleasant, all things considered. Part of her wanted to keep things going.

Another part of her wanted to quit while she was ahead.

But then Felix parked, turning towards her expectantly, and she knew her time was up.

“Um, thanks,” she said, grabbing for her phone and keys. “I appreciate you driving me home.” 

He raised an eyebrow at the formality in her words, and she had to stifle a sigh.

So much for not making things weird.

She waved a hand at the door. “I’m going to - I’m going to go.”

“...right.”

“Inside.”

His eyes narrowed. “Where else would you go?”

“Good point.”

She fell silent, clutching at the phone in her lap and wishing once again that she had even the slightest talent for flirtation. Most of her previous hook-ups, if she was being honest, were luck - she’d been in the right place at the right time, gotten someone’s attention, and well, that was that. There hadn’t often been a lot of talking involved. There hadn’t needed to be; she’d known what she’d wanted, and she’d gone out and gotten it.

In broad daylight though, things were different.

With _Felix_ , things were different. She wouldn’t mind the opportunity to get in his pants, yes - something she’d finally allowed herself to come to terms with over the past few days - but he wasn’t just another guy in the club who met her eyes from across the dance floor. They’d spoken for one thing, had conversations, had a _history._ For another, they had mutual friends in common, and any sort of relationship would need a little more tact than her usual flings.

This, and anything that came afterwards, would require some _skill._

Sadly, the skills of flirtation and seduction were not ones that Byleth possessed. The way Dorothea and Sylvain made it sound, it was so _easy_ , as natural as talking. And maybe for them it was. Conversation with those two never seemed forced or rushed; they flowed effortlessly from one subject to the next, asking the right questions, knowing exactly what to say to draw out a reaction. There was a warmth to them, a certain charm that was just magnetic. 

Byleth was none of those things.

She was blunt and to the point, and while she didn’t think she was particularly cold to people, she didn’t think she was especially warm either. 

Drat it all. 

She opened her mouth to speak, not entirely sure what words were going to come out, when her phone buzzed with an incoming text message. She looked down, flipping it over so she could see the screen.

To her surprise, it was Claude’s name that popped up.

 **< Claude >** Now’s your chance, Teach

 **< Claude >** Go go go

She looked up through the windshield, just in time to see her neighbor waggle his fingers at her. He was sitting on his front lawn again, a pair of sunglasses perched on his nose, but there was no mistaking his look of keen amusement. 

Her phone buzzed again, and she looked down to read the next message. 

**< Claude > **Look at him, not me

 **< Claude > **And bring that fine piece of ass inside before he bolts 

< **Claude > **He kinda looks like he’s gonna bolt

 **< Byleth >** Claude

 **< Claude > **If you don’t tap that, I will

“Problem?”

Felix’s dry voice made her flush, and she looked up, guilty at being caught. “Ah, no,” she said. “Sorry - it was just - we’re being watched.”

“What?” he asked sharply. He swung around, looking for the culprit. When his gaze landed on Claude, his eyes narrowed - when Claude had the audacity to blow him a kiss, he downright glared. Turning back to Byleth, he asked, “Friend of yours?”

“He was,” she replied. “I’m beginning to reassess.”

“Why is he looking at us like that?”

“He wants me to invite you inside.”

“For what?”

“I’ll give you one guess.”

Felix snorted, relaxing a bit. 

Taking that as a good sign, Byleth decided to be a little bold. “ _Would_ you like to come inside?” she asked. 

He turned to look at her, eyes sweeping over her in a way that had her toes curling in her shoes. Her breath caught in her throat as his gaze lingered over her throat and the exposed expanse of her collarbones. He drank her in, every curve and angle of her body, like she was a picture he wanted to memorize, and Goddess, she’d never come just from the way someone was looking at her, but if she could, it was from _this_ look, and _this_ man giving it.

His lips curved up into a smirk - he knew exactly what he was doing, this one. He knew exactly how that blatant once-over had her stomach fluttering with want, and if she wasn’t mistaken -

He liked it.

He liked it a _lot._

But then he looked away, breaking off eye contact completely, and the moment was ruined.

“Can’t,” he said finally, voice surprisingly soft. “I have plans.”

“Oh.” 

She couldn’t claim to be surprised - not completely. It was a Friday night, after all, and Felix owed her nothing. He wasn’t her lover; he wasn’t even really her friend. Still, she couldn’t help but feel a little disappointed.

“It’s a stupid family thing,” he continued. “My old man insists on having dinner once a month.”

Huh. So it was like a standing thing, something he couldn’t get around - something he also didn’t particularly want to do, from the sounds of it. 

Knowing that made her feel a little better.

“I have to go, or he gives me shit.” 

“I get that,” she replied. 

She couldn’t say she knew how it felt, seeing as how Jeralt’s idea of a family dinner had been beer and steak at whichever sports bar had the best happy hour deals, but she understood. 

“I guess I’d better leave then. For real, this time,” she added, throwing in a sardonic smile as she grabbed the door handle and got out of the car. “Bye, Felix.”

He nodded, watching as she moved from the car to the sidewalk; he waited until she was safely on the curb before he backed out of the parking space. 

The window was still rolled down, she noticed; he hadn’t bothered to roll it back up, even after he’d decided not to smoke while she was in the car. 

She took an impulsive step forward. “Hey, Felix.”

He paused, eyes flicking back towards her.

She offered him a small smile. “Try not to throw the bread basket at him.”

He snorted at that. “No promises.”

That was all she could ask.

She turned to head back to her apartment; she’d just made it to the grass when she heard Felix call out behind her.

“And you - Byleth.”

She looked back, surprised. He’d never actually said her name before - never even typed it into a text.

She liked the way it sounded on his tongue.

“Drink some water," he said, smirking once more. "You look thirsty.” 

Her mouth fell open in surprise, but he sped off before she could think of an appropriate retort. Behind her, Claude was laughing his ass off. 

Whirling, she scowled. “I don’t want to hear it.”

“You look _thirsty,_ ” he crowed, slapping his knee. “I mean, I can't blame you if you are - that guy is hot. But come on, who says something like that? Where did you _find_ this guy?” 

“The gym,” she retorted.

“The gym? Wait, wait, wait - so this guy. He’s-”

“-my angry gym acquaintance, yes.”

“Holy shit. Like from your blind date last week?”

“Yes.”

“I thought you guys ended up not doing anything!”

“We… didn’t.”

Not yet, at least. She was beginning to think they might be _doing some things_ in the future, though, if that smirk from Felix had been any indication.

“Then why was he driving you home?” He looked around the parking lot. “And where is your car?”

She sighed. “Long story short, I couldn’t drive it home,” she replied. “It’s at the school.”

He lifted an eyebrow at that, but didn’t pry. “Need me to give you a lift tomorrow?”

“That would... actually be really helpful.” 

She tried to keep the surprise out of her voice; it wasn’t that Claude wasn’t a nice guy. He was. She liked him a lot. But he wasn’t the sort of person to do favors for free. Even if he didn’t exact a toll then and there, he’d keep a running tally in his head and get the returns on his investment later.

So what was the catch here? 

She wasn’t sure there was one; if Claude ever needed a ride in the future, she’d gladly give him one to return the favor. That was hardly putting her in a hard spot-

“Great,” he said, grinning. “You can give me all the details on the ride over.”

That. 

That was the catch. 

She scowled at having been so thoroughly trapped. “You suck.”

Claude put a hand to his heart. “Aw, Teach, I love you too.”

Without another word, she stormed off to her unit.

He was still laughing when the door slammed shut behind her. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Feedback is always appreciated :)


	5. Chapter 5

**< Byleth > **Coffee or tea?

 **< Felix > **Neither

 **< Byleth > **If you had to pick

 **< Felix > **...coffee, I guess

 **< Felix > **If I had to pick

 **< Felix >** Why do I have to pick one?

 **< Byleth > **I’m meeting Sylvain. He wanted “to talk”

 **< Felix > **Ah

 **< Byleth > **I need something to do with my hands

 **< Byleth >** Vodka would be best, but it’s only eleven

Actually, it was ten past the hour - but who was counting, really?

Byleth pocketed her phone as she approached the counter of the coffee shop, putting in an order for a latte and a scone. She retrieved it as soon as she’d moved off to the side to wait on her food, checking to see if Felix had texted her back. 

Felix - not Angry Gym Guy, not Unknown Number. 

She’d finally caved and saved his contact information a few nights ago, when he’d texted her to let her know that the gym was once more operational. She still wasn’t sure if he’d meant it as the challenge she’d taken it for, but she hadn’t risen to the bait.

Instead, she’d sent him a picture of Sothis. 

**< Felix > **He does have that effect on people

 **< Byleth > **I have a feeling this is about Dorothea

 **< Felix > **Gee, what was your first hint

“Uh, Bye-leth? By-e-leth? Wait, no - Beth?” 

With much suffering, Byleth stepped up to the counter, offering the confused barista a small smile. “That’s me,” she said.

“Sorry about that, Beth! I swear, they scribble those names out so fast I can barely read them.”

Byleth didn’t have the heart to correct him.

Breakfast carefully balanced in her hands, she moved to an empty table near the back of the cafe. Tucked into a corner between an old bookcase and an artfully placed ficus, the table’s positioning offered a small amount of privacy to its occupants. It would serve her purpose well today.

 _If_ Sylvain ever showed up, that was.

She wasn’t too worried just yet; Sylvain was perpetually late to everything other than the classes he taught, and it was only eleven-fifteen. She’d give him another twenty minutes before she started to get annoyed.

She wasn’t, however, in the mood to wait for him before she started eating; she broke off a piece of the scone and stuffed it in her mouth, washing it down with a large gulp of coffee. 

Grabbing for her phone yet again, she sent off another quick message to Felix.

 **< Byleth > **Has he talked to you about her at all?

 **< Felix >** He has literally not STOPPED talking about her for four days

 **< Felix > **I had to fucking turn my phone off

 **< Byleth > **...and that… worked?

 **< Felix >** No. Then he just showed up at my house

 **< Felix > **Fucker

She smiled, taking another bite of her scone.

 **< Byleth >** Aw, he’s just excited

 **< Byleth > **I think

 **< Felix > **Disgusting

 **< Byleth > **Wow, Felix

 **< Byleth > **Tell me how you really feel

Felix began typing - and then quickly erased what he was going to say. Byleth waited, patient, as he did this several more times before apparently giving up altogether, the bubble at the bottom of her screen disappearing from view. 

Had she said something wrong? 

She didn’t have long to ponder it. 

“Hey! Sorry I’m so late,” Sylvain breathed, crashing down into the chair opposite her. He shot her an apologetic smile before stealing a piece of what was left of her scone. “Lost track of time.”

Byleth lifted an eyebrow.

To her immense surprise, Sylvain blushed.

_Blushed._

His face was nearly as scarlet as his hair as he gave a nervous laugh, trying his best to seem at ease. “So, uh, let me just go grab a coffee, and I’ll-” He was already gone, speeding off to the counter to make his order.

Byleth hid her smile behind her coffee cup. 

“Thanks for meeting me,” Sylvain announced upon his return. He seemed a bit more composed now, the flush gone from his cheeks, his words more measured, even. “I appreciate it.”

“Sure,” she allowed. 

“So.” He paused, taking a sip of his coffee. “About that. You’re probably wondering why I called you out of the blue like this. I, ah - I have something to tell you.” He paused again, clearing his throat. “It’s, uh, about a girl I went out with last week - but you probably know that.” 

“I had my suspicions.”

“Yeah?” He let out a nervous laugh. “Am I that transparent?”

“Yes.”

He laughed again. “Funny, Felix said the same thing.” His head shot up, eyes narrowing. “Speaking of _Felix,_ how is that going-”

“Sylvain. Don’t change the subject.”

“Right. We’ll put a pin in it.”

“So, you went out with a girl.”

“Yeah!” 

Goddess, this was like pulling teeth. Fighting back a sigh, Byleth pressed on.

“And it was…”

“Good.” At the look she sent him, he quickly added, “Okay, no, sorry, sorry, it was - it was _great._ We just kind of… clicked, you know? And I already knew her, so it’s like we bypassed all of the dumb, awkward parts and got straight to the good stuff. It’s been… it’s been a long time since I connected like that with someone.” 

Despite herself, Byleth smiled. 

It wasn’t every day that Sylvain opened up about his feelings. His dating life, sure - with that, he was an open book, more than happy to share details both mundane and salacious. But emotions? Feelings? Connections? These weren’t the sort of things Sylvain discussed very often. 

When he did, she paid attention. 

“Here’s the catch.”

Byleth blinked at Sylvain. “There’s a catch?”

“I… yeah. Maybe. I think.” He took a deep breath, as if to prepare himself - and then stopped dead in his tracks, words caught in his throat. 

She took pity on him, guessing what he was trying to divulge.

“Is this the part where you tell me it’s Dorothea?”

He choked on the coffee he’d just taken a sip of, pounding on his chest. “Fuck,” he winced. “That burned.” He looked up at Byleth then, bewildered. “How did you know?”

“Felix told me.”

“...that punk.”

“If he hadn’t told me, I’m sure Dorothea would have.”

He snorted. “You’ve got me there.” Setting his coffee aside, he shot her a hesitant look, something small and vulnerable in his eyes. “So you, uh… now that you know. You don’t think this is weird?”

Byleth sat back in her chair, crossing her arms over her chest. “Honestly? No.”

Sylvain visibly relaxed, some of the tension he’d been carrying in his shoulders easing a bit. “You have no idea how happy that makes me,” he admitted, shooting her a wry smile. “I was so… I dunno, I didn’t want to make things weird with all of us. I mean, Thea and I have been friends for so long, and I only met you guys because of her.” He shrugged. “I guess I was worried you’d… treat me differently, if we started dating? I dunno. It’s stupid.”

“It’s not,” she disagreed.

“When Cat asked why we hadn’t slept together yet, that one night, I was so surprised I didn’t know what to say. I mean, I know she was just joking. But then Thea texted me later and asked ‘Why haven’t we given this a shot?’ and I was just like, fuck, why _haven’t_ we? I kind of thought she was just messing around but then… I couldn’t really stop thinking about it.”

“Aw.”

“Am I crazy here?” he asked. “I mean, tell me the truth. Can you see us together?”

“Sure.”

“...that’s it?” Sylvain laughed, carding a hand through his hair. “C’mon, even Felix gave me that much.”

Well, it wasn’t like they were competing, but...

She cleared her throat, sitting up a little straighter. “I can see it,” she amended. “You’ve known each other for a while, so you know you already get along, and you’ve got a lot of things in common.”

“See, that’s what I said,” he replied, nodding. “I mean - look. We’re both teachers, right, so we know what it’s like, and what we deal with every day. We know what it's like to have crappy families. But it’s more than that. We like the same TV shows, the same movies, the same food, the same bands - she has a signed poster of the Spice Girls hanging over her bed, Byleth, _Baby Spice_ has touched that paper. Can you _even_ ? Plus we both have really bad caffeine habits; she won’t judge me for my collection of old Disney movies, and she is _totally_ down for no-pants Sundays-

“Sylvain.”

“Not to mention we’re both _super_ attractive-”

“ _Sylvain.”_

“I know, I know - too much. I am, at best, a six.”

Byleth rolled her eyes, but the smile tugging at her lips kept it playful. “Don’t fish for compliments - it doesn’t become you.”

He winked, a little light-hearted gesture before his face grew serious once more. “She just - she gets me. She really does. I can’t really explain it any better than that.” He scrunched his face up. “I sound like an idiot.”

“You sound like you like her,” she corrected. “A lot.”

“Fuck, I think I do.”

“I mean, she’s a catch. So nothing wrong with that.”

“ _Right?_ ”

“Did you always like her? Or is this a more recent development?”

He sat back, pondering the question for a good several minutes before he answered. “I mean, I’ve always thought Thea was attractive - any idiot could see that,” he said. “I guess I thought about it when I first met her? But then we became lab partners in Chemistry, and I didn’t want to fuck that up, because let’s face it, she’s the only reason I didn’t burn my eyebrows off with a Bunsen burner, and by the time the semester ended, we were… friends.” He shook his head. “I never really even let myself think about dating a friend before.”

“Really? Never?”

“Ah, well - yeah, that.” Sylvain shot her a sheepish look. “I’ve mentioned I didn’t really have a great track record with relationships in college, right?” 

Byleth nodded. 

“For me, relationships were a way to have fun - I didn’t take them very seriously. It was easier that way; if you don’t take it seriously, it doesn’t hurt when it ends. So I didn’t really care about the men and women I dated. But I did care about my friends. I didn’t want to hurt them - not ever.”

“So you put people in one category or the other,” she guessed.

He nodded sagely. “Don’t cross the streams.”

“I guess I can understand that,” she continued, reaching for her coffee. “I mean, if you’re determined not to care about the people you date. No offense,” she added quickly, not missing Sylvain’s wince.

“No, no, I - I deserved that.” He laughed, though there was no humor in it. “I was such a shit.”

“But you’ve changed. You’re not like that anymore.”

“I like to think so,” he agreed. “Or at least - I hope so.”

“Then you’re… okay with this? Dating Dorothea, I mean. It’s not… awkward, or weird?”

“Honestly?” He smiled. “I have no idea. It doesn’t feel awkward. Though I guess it could, later on. But I think - I think I wanna try, regardless of that. You never know what’s gonna happen, right? I mean, this could be it; _she_ could be it.”

Byleth smiled in return. “She could.”

“And we already talked about it a bunch - implications and stuff, what if’s. We both think that if something goes… badly, we could still be friends. And not make it weird for the rest of you.”

“That’s very… mature of you.”

She didn’t mean it to sound as derisive as she feared it did. Defining the relationship like that, especially this early on, took a lot of guts. 

Luckily, Sylvain didn’t seem to be taking her words the wrong way.

“We even made sure to talk it about _before_ we started ripping each other’s clothes-”

“I don’t need to hear this part,” she interjected.

“Aw, but this is where it gets really _good-_ ”

“I’ll take your word for it.” 

He laughed at that, raising his hands in surrender.

It was different than his normal laugh - a little more boisterous, a little more carefree. A little more real. Byleth couldn’t help but think that Dorothea was to blame. 

“Hey,” she said, reaching out a foot to tap at Sylvain’s leg. “I’m happy for you.”

He beamed at her, eyes sparkling. “Thanks. And thanks for taking this so well. I was-” He broke off, chuckling to himself. “Like I said, I was a bit nervous at how you all would react. I know how much everyone loves Thea.”

“We love you, too,” Byleth pointed out.

“Yeah? I dunno. It’s different. It _feels_ different. I wasn’t sure you all would be happy for us, or if everyone would just end up… I dunno, protective. Wary, maybe?”

“I think I speak for all of us when I say that if you two are happy, we’re happy,” she said slowly. 

“Yeah?”

“I’ll fight anyone else who says otherwise.”

“Okay,” he replied, smile going soft. “Good.”

The two of them fell silent, taking a moment of companionable silence to finish their coffees. Sylvain pulled out his phone, checking his messages no doubt; judging from the stupid grin that grew across his face as he started tapping at the screen, Byleth guessed he was talking to Dorothea.

Felix was right.

The two of them _were_ disgusting - disgustingly _cute._

She reached for her own phone, looking to see if she’d gotten any messages during their conversation. But the screen was blank, no new texts to speak of, and she set it back down with a huff, a little frustrated. 

“Problem?”

She looked up to see Sylvain watching her curiously, his eyes briefly flicking down to her phone.

“No,” she said quickly. 

He shot her a look and she sighed, caught.

“I was talking to Felix earlier,” she admitted. “He hasn’t responded.”

“Don’t take it personally,” Sylvain said, snorting. “He doesn’t respond a solid fifty percent of the time.”

“He said something, and I asked how he really felt, and now it’s radio silence.”

“Ah, you said the F-word.”

“...fuck?”

“ _Feelings._ ”

“What’s wrong with feelings?”

Sylvain laughed. “Nothing - unless you’re Felix Fraldarius,” he replied. 

So she _had_ scared him off - great. She hadn’t even been serious; it had been a throwaway comment, something sarcastic she’d thrown back at him in jest. 

Maybe she could explain that to him?

“Don’t worry about it too much,” Sylvain continued. “He likes you - he’ll text you back eventually.”

Byleth raised her eyebrows, surprised. “He likes me?”

Honestly?

It was difficult to tell.

He _was_ texting her on his own initiative, and he’d _definitely_ eye-fucked her back in the car. But that didn’t mean he liked her. You didn’t have to _like_ someone to want to have sex with them. 

That was just a bonus.

“Are you serious?” Sylvain leaned forward, grinning. “He talks about you all the time. Just the other day, he told me how annoying you were!”

She winced despite herself - she’d thought she and Felix were past that point. 

“Oh, shit, that sounds bad, doesn’t it.”

A bit, yeah.

“Look, so when Felix is talking about a thing, he means what he says and you can take it at face value. But if he’s ever talking about a _person,_ especially a person he likes, you have to read between the lines. You follow me?”

“Not at all.”

“So he says he finds you annoying - patently false,” he scoffed, waving a hand dismissively. “He actually really likes you; it’s _himself_ he finds annoying, for feeling that way in the first place and not knowing what to do about it. But he’s not going to say that, no; that would be too close to admitting he feels human emotions other than primal rage and seething indifference. So he calls you annoying instead!”

“...that makes _no_ sense.”

Sylvain shrugged. “That’s Felix for you.”

“Why doesn’t he just… tell me he likes me?”

“Because he is physically incapable of doing so.”

She snorted. 

“I’m serious - there was this girl once, in high school, and we could all tell that Felix wanted to take her to prom. But he wouldn’t ask her - like he even tried, and just could _not_ do it-”

“Whoa, back up there. Felix went to _prom_?”

“Can you believe it? Hang on, I’m sure I’ve got a photo here somewhere.” Sylvain shifted sideways, holding his phone out so they could both see the screen. He opened the right app and started flipping through the photos at a dizzying rate, all while Byleth continued to attempt to process this latest bit of news. 

“Let me clarify - Felix went to a dance _voluntarily_?”

“Sure. I mean, it helped that it was Lord of the Rings themed. Felix is always down for Middle-Earth shenanigans.”

Byleth had to admit, she was intrigued by the idea of a high school that would throw a high-fantasy themed prom - but more pressing was the idea of Felix stanning Tolkien. It was this train of thought she decided to follow.

“You’re kidding.”

“I’m pretty sure he wanted to be Aragorn when he grew up. Ah, yes, score! Here!” 

He shoved the phone towards her, grinning with glee. He could barely seem to wait for Byleth’s reaction, dancing around in his chair as she gaped at the picture.

“Are those… _elf_ _ears_?” 

“Yes!” he crowed. “Oh, Goddess, he spent at least a half hour getting those stupid things glued on. I swear, we were so late to get to our restaurant, I thought Ingrid was going to murder him for making her miss the first twenty minutes of dinner.”

There were four people in the photo, only two of whom Byleth knew. The first was obviously Sylvain, dressed up as what looked like a very tall hobbit. His hair was a little shorter than he kept it now, and he’d not filled out quite as much, but there was no mistaking that grin. She’d recognize it anywhere.

The blonde girl dressed up as an elf warrior Byleth guessed was Ingrid. She was holding up peace signs for the camera, nestled in between Sylvain and the other stranger - a tall blonde boy sporting a fake axe and one very impressive fake dwarvish beard. 

Finally, standing slightly off to the side, arms crossed over his chest in annoyance - was Felix. His face wasn’t quite as angular, the last vestiges of baby fat still clinging to his cheeks, but it was undeniably him. The posture alone would have given him away.

His costume was by far the most elaborate; the velvet tunic and leather boots could well have been props from the set of the movies, and he’d pulled the hair back from his face in a perfect imitation of the elves of Rivendell. 

And the _ears._

“I need this photo,” she breathed, reverent. 

Sylvain took the phone back, tapping a few buttons. “Just a sec… and, there! Sent it.”

Byleth checked her phone; sure enough, a message from Sylvain was waiting for her, and she saved the picture to her own photo album. 

“This is amazing,” she said, looking down at the photo once more. “Though I’m a little surprised you still have it. It’s been, what… eight years?”

“I never delete good blackmail material.”

"Blackmail?" She shot him a flat look. “You don’t have anything incriminating of me, do you?”

“What?” he asked, scandalized. “Would I do such a thing?”

She didn’t reply, and he laughed.

“Okay, I might have _one_ video of you and Dorothea drunk-singing that one song you guys like so much at karaoke-”

Byleth blanched. “Which one?”

“-or were you rapping?” He paused, considering, only to shrug a moment later. “I dunno, it’s either Sir Mix-a-Lot or 4 Non Blondes, take your pick-”

She groaned. 

“That’s the spirit!”

She supposed it could be worse - she wasn’t a _terrible_ singer. She wouldn't be winning any awards any time soon, but she could carry a tune. And that wasn’t to mention the fact that she'd been singing with Dorothea. That girl had a _voice_ on her; she could really belt it out when she wanted to, and karaoke was one of her favorite times to let loose.

She’d likely drowned out whatever noise Byleth was trying to pass off as a harmony. 

This picture of Felix, on the other hand…

There was no hiding that, not when he’d purposefully kept himself apart from the rest of the group.

Sylvain leaned in suddenly, slinging an arm around her shoulder. “Hey,” he murmured, grinning. “Wanna really get Felix going?”

“...what?”

“Dress up like that one hot elf from the movies.”

“Which elf?” 

“Mmmm, she had dark hair? I think? Man, it’s been a hot minute since I saw those.”

Recognition sparked, and Byleth frowned. “Wait, do you mean Arwen?”

Sylvain snapped his fingers. “Yeah, her! That’s the one!” He paused, no doubt laughing at some memory Byleth wasn’t privy to. “Oh, man, Felix had the _hots_ for her, let me tell you - but only in the first movie, where she has a sword and she goes and rescues Frodo and shit. He didn’t like her in the other two."

“You want me to… cosplay as an elf.”

“But not just _any_ elf, just that one, what’s her name - Arwen! Yeah, definitely don’t go for the elf lady from the Hobbit movies, he did _not_ approve of that adaptation-”

“And the point of this is to get me laid.”

“I mean, it sounds weird when you say it like that. But yes.”

She sighed, pushing away his arm. “Sylvain-”

“I know, I know, it sounds strange! But _trust me,_ Byleth _,_ when I say Felix will find this super, super hot.”

She eyed him dubiously.

“Like, he might just bum-rush you as soon as he sees the sword.”

Somehow, that was less surprising that it should have been.

“At least let him know you have the extended editions on blu-ray,” he pressed on. “He will be over at your apartment in a flash, and I daresay he may even bring snacks.”

“Snacks?”

“He likes those weird wasabi pea things.”

“...wouldn’t have guessed that.”

“And beef jerky.”

“But not chocolate chip cookies, huh,” she mused.

“Like I said - he has his faults.”

Byleth considered this, mulling over the idea of inviting Felix over for movies. 

It wasn’t… unappealing. It wouldn’t be a date - not really. The casual setting would take some of the pressure off the two of them, and neither of them would have to bother dressing up or trying to impress the other. And knowing that the movies were something the two of them both enjoyed _did_ take a little bit of the risk out of extending the offer. 

Sylvain seemed to be waiting for her answer, watching her with bated breath.

“I’ll consider it,” she said finally. His face lit up, and she quickly added, “The movies - not the cosplay.”

That seemed like more of a six-month anniversary thing, not a second-but-really-probably-first date thing. 

Again, not that this was a date.

It wasn’t.

"Yeah?" Sylvain breathed. His excitement was contagious as he added, "God, you two are so cute."

"There is no 'we'," Byleth pointed out.

"Not _yet,_ there's not. You get that cosplay on, though-"

"He's not even talking to me right now, so that might be a little premature."

He waved a hand dismissively, brushing this off as if it were nothing. "Give it a few days," he advised. 

"You don't think I pissed him off?"

"Nah, not over something like that." He considered this, frowning. "Well, actually, he probably is pissed. But not at you! Like I said - gotta read between the lines. Do a little reverse psychology here."

"...that's not what reverse psychology is."

Sylvain patted her shoulder. "He'll come around, Byleth," he said. "He always does."

She'd have to take his word on it, she supposed.

Otherwise, her movie night was going to be very, very lonely.

* * *

One day passed.

Then two, three.

On the fourth day, Byleth actually wrote out a message to Felix. It was an invitation to come over to her place Friday for the movies, making no mention of their previous conversation. Not too long, not too brief - all in all, she thought it was a good text.

She erased it before she worked up the courage to press send.

She was being stupid, she knew. The worst Felix could say was no, and what did that mean for her and her Friday night? 

Nothing.

She could still watch the movies. She could still make snacks. And if she wanted to, she could even get herself off afterwards.

Not that that would necessarily be happening if Felix _did_ come over, but she couldn’t say she hadn’t thought about it.

A little.

Or a lot, if she were being honest. 

By Thursday, Byleth had had enough. The concern she’d felt - the thought that maybe she’d worded something poorly or done the wrong thing by not reaching out earlier - dissipated, replaced by a deep-seated annoyance. They were adults here; she’d done nothing wrong, a few quick analyses had concluded, and if he disagreed, he could tell that to her face or deal with it. 

For all she knew, he wasn’t even upset. Sylvain had said that Felix wasn’t the best at responding to messages; maybe he’d just gotten distracted, or had had to go and do something, and by the time he’d gotten a chance to respond, too much time had passed.

Who knew?

She couldn’t. 

Gathering herself, she finally sent him a text message on her lunch break.

 **< Byleth > **So I hear you’re a Tolkien fan

She’d then set the phone aside and picked up her sandwich, having gotten used to his silence and not really expecting a reply.

She’d just taken a bite when it buzzed on her napkin.

 **< Felix > **I’m not a FAN

 **< Felix > **I just like the books. And the movies. 

**< Byleth > **Sounds like a fan to me

 **< Felix > **Whatever

 **< Felix > **Why do you ask

 **< Byleth > **I have the extended editions of the movies. If you wanted to come over and watch them sometime

She pressed send before she could think twice, not allowing herself to chicken out. 

Felix was slower to respond this time, the little bubble at the bottom of her screen working furiously for one very long minute before his message came through.

 **< Felix > **Will you let me turn the commentary on?

Byleth snorted, hiding her smile behind the rim of her can of soda.

 **< Byleth > **Sure, Felix

 **< Byleth > **We can turn on the commentary

 **< Felix > **It’s not weird

 **< Byleth > **I never said it was

She actually kind of liked listening to the producers and actors talk about everything that had gone into the making of the movie. Especially with a movie like this, where an entire world had had to be built out of nothing.

 **< Felix > **Sometime

 **< Felix > **When is sometime

 **< Byleth > **Tomorrow?

 **< Felix > **Fine

< **Byleth > **Fine

< **Byleth > **Seven okay?

 **< Felix >** I can bring food

Pleasantly surprised, Byleth quickly accepted the offer.

 **< Felix > **Do you like spicy food?

 **< Byleth > **...how spicy is spicy?

 **< Felix > **Don’t be a wimp

 **< Byleth > **I’m not a wimp

 **< Byleth > **But on a scale of one to five chili peppers, I’d say I’m a solid three

 **< Felix > **Ugh, fine

 **< Felix **> I’ll get medium

 **< Byleth > **Do you like beer? 

**< Byleth > **Or is that a carb?

 **< Felix > **Just don’t get anything super dark 

**< Felix > **Like Guinness

 **< Felix > **No Guinness

 **< Byleth >** Excuse you, Guinness is delicious

 **< Felix > **Gross

< **Byleth > **Fine, nothing dark. I’ll get a pilsner

 **< Felix > **Fine

Having hammered that out, Byleth took another bite of her sandwich. 

She had to say, that had gone very well. Her expectations had been very low - she’d been expecting no response at all, or maybe Felix shooting her down right out of the gate. Instead, he’d offered to buy her _food_. 

Ten points to Felix Fraldarius.

Dorothea chose that moment to come into the break room, a take-out bag in her hand. She smiled when she saw Byleth, plopping down into the seat next to her. 

“What’s got you smiling like that?” she asked, grin turning into more of a smirk. “Something on your mind?”

“Nothing,” Byleth replied. 

“No? Hmm.” Dorothea pulled a salad out of the bag. “Maybe it’s not something at all. Maybe it’s someone.”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

Her phone betrayed her, Felix's name flashing across the screen as he sent her another message.

Dorothea laughed outright at that, reaching over to pat Byleth's hand. “Of course not, dear. Tell Felix I said hi.”

Byleth studiously ignored that remark.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This whole thing was so early 2000's, lmao, what a time to be alive
> 
> Thanks for reading! :)


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay in getting this out! Had a bunch of stuff going on with work and life and shit and UNFORTUNATELY had to focus on that for a while

Felix showed up at seven the next day, with the promised food.

A _lot_ of food, Byleth noticed. 

“I wanted options,” he huffed upon seeing her bemused expression, setting the bags on the counter. 

The amount of _options_ Felix had brought would pass for a small buffet, but Byleth decided not to mention this fact. Feel free was free food, after all.

She passed him a beer as he started pulling take-out containers out of the bags. It seemed he had a particular organization scheme in mind, placing each box with care and grouping similar items together. She recognized a few dishes; others were completely new. All of it smelled delicious, though, and her stomach rumbled appreciatively as she watched him work.

Felix heard.

“Hungry?” he asked, with a snort.

“Starved,” she replied. Taking a swig of beer, she moved over to the cabinets, pulling out a couple of plates. 

“You could’ve had a snack.”

“I _did_ have a snack,” she shot back. 

But that had been an hour ago, and granola bars didn’t go very far.

He shook his head. “You sound like Ingrid.”

“You and Sylvain’s friend?” 

“Mmm.”

“How’d you all meet?”

He paused, peering up at her through his bangs. “Why?”

She shrugged, moving to sit down on one of the barstools that surrounded the kitchen island. “I’m curious,” she admitted. “You’ve mentioned her a few times, but I don’t know anything about her.”

Still, he hesitated. “We didn’t date, if that’s what you’re after.”

Byleth blinked in surprise. “I… didn’t get that impression,” she replied. 

“That’s not -” He broke off with a sigh, gathering up the now empty bags and throwing them in the bin. “She’s just an old friend. We’ve known each other since we were kids. Sylvain too.”

“Oh, cool. So did you all live in the same neighborhood or something?”

“Something like that.”

“And then you all went to college together.”

“Why all the questions?” he demanded, rounding on her. “I thought we were here to watch a movie.”

She didn’t have a good answer for that, herself. The truth was, she was starting to like Felix; she wanted to know more about him. And since he wasn’t the type to just offer that sort of information up freely, she was left with two options - ask Sylvain, or ask Felix himself. Seeing as how she had the guy here…

Well, it had made sense in her head.

The suspicious look on Felix’s face made her think maybe that had been a miscalculation.

“Fine, we’ll watch the movie.” She pushed herself up, taking another drink of her beer as she padded over to the living room. “Do you want to start with _Fellowship,_ or are you a maverick?”

“What?” he asked sharply.

She turned to look back over her shoulder, not certain which part of the sentence had perturbed him.

“Go in order. _Fellowship, Two Towers, Return of the King._ As if there were any other way to watch them,” he muttered under his breath, scowling.

“Hey, don’t knock it until you try it,” she replied, grinning. “If you start with the last movie, you can go back and see all the foreshadowing and symbolism in the earlier ones. Gave me a _way_ bigger appreciation for the trilogy as a whole, let me tell you.”

Felix seemed less than impressed. “You start with the _last_ one?”

“Sometimes, yeah.”

He made a disgusted noise, throwing a casual, “Barbarian,” back at her before he turned back to the food and started loading up a plate.

It almost sounded endearing.

She joined him once she’d gotten the movie set up, surveying the different dishes Felix had brought to try and decide where to start. Her earlier estimates were correct - he’d certainly chosen a wide selection, noodle dishes in one corner, meat dishes in another, with smaller finger foods taking up the middle of her kitchen’s island. 

Grabbing for her plate, she looked to see what food Felix had chosen, curious to see whether their taste in Chinese food aligned. 

To her surprise, his plate was filled with what looked like Beef with Broccoli.

Sans broccoli.

The funny thing was, there wasn’t an overabundance of said vegetable remaining in the dish. 

“Felix.”

“What.”

“Did you order Beef with Broccoli without the broccoli?” 

He bristled, as defensive as she’d ever seen him. “So what if I did?”

“Meat. You ordered meat.”

“It has a specific _sauce-_ ”

She peered into the nearest container, pretending to poke around in its contents.

“What are you doing?” he demanded.

“Checking to see if there’s rice in the fried rice, or if that’s just chicken-”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake.” He stomped off to the couch, leaving Byleth alone in the kitchen. 

She smiled to herself, pushing back that laughter that threatened to push past her lips. She wasn’t sure Felix’s ego could take it. 

Piling her plate high, she made sure to take a little of everything before joining him on her sofa. It was a bit of a precarious situation - the mountain of lo mein she’d made was teetering, dangerously close to sliding into the neighboring orange chicken. She had to balance the dish carefully in her hands as she added a couple of spring rolls and dumplings to the mix.

“You can come back for seconds,” Felix pointed out, shooting her a wry look from the living room.

“And miss a glimpse of my hobbits?” she shot back, shaking her head. “Not a chance.”

He snorted at that, turning back to his food. “You would like Hobbiton.”

“Who _doesn’t_ like Hobbiton?”

“It doesn’t even get good until Strider shows up.”

She couldn’t exactly disagree; she loved the characters of the hobbits dearly, but they didn’t exactly give off the brooding, mysterious vibes that seemed endemic to male fantasy protagonists. Aragorn suited that role quite well.

And, of course - he was hot. 

There was that.

“I take it he’s your favorite character.”

“Obviously.”

Personally, she had always liked Gandalf - the tireless wizard, working behind the scenes for decades to bring about Sauron’s downfall. Galadriel, too, what with being the most powerful elf in Middle-Earth and all, single-handedly protecting her court from Sauron’s influence.

Aragorn wasn’t bad, though. Felix could certainly have chosen much worse characters to idolize.

They were mostly quiet through the first few scenes, watching in silence as they ate. The both of them got up at different intervals to re-fill their plates, working their way through the dishes until they’d tried a little bit of everything. 

Byleth was stuffed by the time they got to the scene of Bilbo’s birthday party. She groaned when they brought out the cake, and Felix shot her a quizzical look.

“The mere sight of food right now is making me nauseous,” she admitted. “I think I ate too much.”

He snorted. “Cake is disgusting anyways.”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa - hold up.” 

Sylvain had mentioned that Felix didn’t like chocolate-chip cookies - making him strange enough, right off the bat. But _cake_? Who didn’t like cake? There were so many different kinds, ranging from the very sweet to the barely sweet. Surely he’d managed to find one sort that he could stomach.

She said as much, and Felix shook his head.

“I hate sugar,” he said.

“Impossible.”

“What does that mean?”

“It is literally programmed into human DNA for people to like sugars,” she pointed out. 

“Like fuck it is.”

“I don’t believe it.”

“Don’t believe _what_?” 

“I don’t believe there isn't at least one type of cake you like.”

He huffed, crossing his arms over his chest. “Well, I don’t.”

“How many have you tried?”

“It’s not the taste!” he finally snapped. She paused, and he added, “It’s the texture. They’re - they're sticky.” He scrunched his face up, nose wrinkling in disgust. “The way it just sticks to your teeth and everything, like glue - it’s gross.”

“...so you don’t like icing.”

“I don’t like cake,” he corrected. “Cake has icing.”

“You can have a cake without icing, you know. Like angel food cake. Or coffee cake.”

He considered this carefully, as if he’d never before entertained the notion of a cake without frosting. They sat through the entirety of Gandalf’s fireworks display in silence, the colorful lights dancing over his pensive features, before he came up with a proper response.

“That might… be alright. I guess."

Byleth raised her eyebrows in surprise.

“But only a small piece,” he added, seeing the look on her face. “And only every now and then.”

Small victories.

She turned back to the movie, just in time to see Gandalf leaving the Shire. It was a good sequence - him rushing across the world to Gondor to scour the archives for information on the one ring. She’d always enjoyed these scenes that bridged the gap between what was written in the books and what was only mentioned. It made the entire story more cohesive.

“Do you know how to make it?”

She turned back to Felix. He was pointedly not looking at her, very interested in the way the label was peeling off his bottle of beer.

“What, cake?” she asked.

“That one you mentioned - the first one, not coffee cake. I _don’t_ like coffee cake.”

“Not a coffee person?”

“Not a fucking crumbs everywhere person.”

“Ah.” 

She thought back over the years of teaching herself to cook, trying to remember if she’d ever made an angel food cake. She didn’t believe she had; mostly, she stuck to the desserts that came out of boxes. There was less she could mess up that way.

The girl who lived next door to Claude, Lysithea, had offered to teach her how to bake once. It was a good offer, too - she was working hard to become a pastry chef, and Byleth had tasted her desserts before at Claude’s parties. They were delicious, the decorations impossibly delicate, her flavors wonderfully balanced. 

But eating Lysithea’s pastries had just confirmed her opinion that baking required too much finesse, too much skill, for someone like her. Cooking, she could manage; with savory meals, you threw things in a skillet, fried them until cooked, and added a sauce. Or you threw things in a pan, seasoned them, and stuck them in the oven for half an hour. Three steps, and you were done. Dinner was served.

Baking was a _science._ Your temperatures, measurements, and timing all had to to be precise, or your dessert would end up a mess. 

She had neither the time nor the patience to perfect an art form like that.

“I don’t think I’ve ever made an angel food cake,” she said finally, glancing back at Felix. “I usually buy them at the store.”

He accepted this, nodding - but it didn’t seem like the answer he’d wanted to hear.

Huh.

She tried again, acting on a hunch.

“I could… probably find a recipe, though,” she offered. “If you wanted to-”

She stopped, words dying in her throat as quickly as they'd been voiced. If he wanted to - what, exactly? Bake a _cake_ with her? She almost laughed at the absurdity of it. As if he would be interested in doing anything of the sort.

Angry Gym Guy, in her apartment, _baking._

An image of Felix in an apron, rolling pin in hand, sprang to her mind, unbidden, and she choked out a laugh. She covered it up by reaching for her beer, taking a long, _long_ drink to try and get it out of her head. 

It didn’t work. 

“We’re only going to get through the first movie tonight.”

“...what?” 

“This movie is three and a half hours long,” he huffed, frowning. 

“...right.”

“So it’s already eight. I’ll have to come back over to watch the second and third ones. We can-” He stopped, clearing his throat. “-we can make the fucking cake then.”

Oh.

_Oh._

She shot him a small smile. “Okay.”

“If I don’t like it, I’m not eating it, though.”

She could live with that.

Abruptly, he stood, making his way around the couch and over to the front door. “Leaving?” she asked, leaning forward to pause the movie.

“I’ll be back in five.”

Without further explanation, he pushed his way outside, leaving Byleth sitting in silence in her living room. She sat there for a moment, wondering if something had happened there - if the offer of a second… whatever this was, this not-date, was too much for him. Maybe he needed a minute to collect himself. 

To tell the truth, she didn’t mind the break herself. 

Felix was… intense. The way he talked, the way he moved, the way he looked at her… no matter what he was doing, she found herself dissecting his idiosyncrasies. It was like Sylvain had said - Felix required you to read between the lines, to figure out what he _wasn’t_ saying. Studying a person like that, while intriguing, was also, frankly, a little bit exhausting.

She supposed that with time, that would get easier. Familiarity, and all. Sylvain and Dorothea certainly didn’t seem to have any issues interpreting Felix’s behavior, and from what she’d gathered, they were the closest thing he had to best friends.

This assumed, of course, that Felix would _give_ her the chance to better get to know him. There was no guarantee he wouldn’t simply get tired of her one day and stop texting her back. She liked to think they were making headway - he’d agreed to come over here, after all, and he’d brought her copious amounts of Chinese take-out without hesitation. And now there was the looming possibility of a cake night.

Small steps.

Byleth stood, finishing off her beer and heading over to the refrigerator for a second. She pulled out two, one for her and one for Felix, setting both bottles on the counter as she shuffled around in a drawer for a bottle opener. Just as she’d cracked the first one open, her phone buzzed.

Digging it out of a pocket, she saw that Claude had sent her a message - a picture message. 

When she saw the contents of said message, she spewed beer all over her counter.

“Fuck,” she muttered, coughing to clear her burning throat. 

Across the room, Sothis shot her a dirty look. _How dare you,_ it said, _how dare you wake me from my nap._

“Yeah, yeah, I know,” she said, reaching for a towel to mop up the mess. “I’m the worst. Sorry.”

Sothis snorted, apology not accepted.

But really now, what did Sothis expect her to do when Claude sent her pictures like _that_? 

It was a picture of Felix, draped over the hood of his car, head tilted back to catch the setting sun, cigarette dangling from his lips. The hem of his shirt was riding up, exposing just the slightest bit of stomach, and his eyes were heavy and lidded. He was positively dripping sex, and sin, and goddess, but if it wasn’t the hottest thing Byleth had ever seen.

“Fuck,” she muttered again, scrolling down to see the other texts Claude had sent to accompany the picture.

 **< Claude > **Teach, come get your boyfriend

 **< Claude > **Out here looking like a snack

 **< Byleth > **Fuck

 **< Byleth > **He’s not my boyfriend, but FUCK

 **< Claude > **He’s got to be posing like that on purpose

 **< Claude > **That is a thirst trap if I’ve ever seen one

 **< Claude > **He’s STILL doing this, by the way - that has got to be his second cigarette

 **< Claude > **What did you DO to him?

Byleth padded into the living room, lifting up the blinds on the window. Sure enough, Felix was still sprawled across the front of his car, smoking like a fiend and looking _way_ sexier than anyone had any right to while performing such a mundane task.

 **< Byleth > **I did nothing

 **< Byleth > **We were watching a movie

 **< Claude > **That is not a “I’m watching a movie and needed a break” smoke

 **< Claude >** That is an “I just got fucked” smoke

Byleth snorted, letting the blinds slide shut and heading back into the kitchen before she got caught. 

**< Byleth >** We are not in here having sex

 **< Byleth > **We are watching the Lord of the Rings

 **< Claude > **…

 **< Claude > **are you serious right now, Teach?

 **< Byleth > **Yes, why?

She didn’t get a chance to respond before Felix returned, the door to her apartment slipping shut with a soft click. Seeing her in the kitchen, he moved to where she was, lifting an eyebrow at the phone in her hands. “Bored?” he drawled.

He knew.

He _knew._

She didn't know how, but he did - he knew about the picture, or her looking out the window at him. One of the two. And now he was _teasing_ her, the bastard.

He reached for the second beer, his eyes not leaving hers as he took a drink. They were dark, his pupils blown wide from the dimness of dusk, focused on hers with a sharpness that had her swallowing to ease the sudden dryness in her throat.

“Just thirsty,” she replied.

Truer words had never been spoken.

He paused, the bottle still settled against his lips, and then smirked, mouth curling up the glass rim. “I see,” he murmured, taking another drink.

What would he taste like, Byleth wondered? Beer or cigarettes? 

She was dying to find out.

But before she could so much as take a step forward, Felix was sauntering back into the living room, settling back into the couch with the same preternatural grace he always displayed. She stayed rooted to the spot, watching, rapt, as he looked back over his shoulder, flicking his bangs out of his eyes as he shot her a questioning look.

“Are you coming?”

Yes.

Tonight, on her fingers, thinking of _this_ very moment, and _that_ very look, and hoping against hope that she’d get to see it at a much closer angle one of these days.

But she was getting ahead of herself here - this was a marathon, she was coming to find out, not a sprint. Don't be hasty.

“Yeah,” she said weakly, grabbing her drink and heading over to join him. 

Felix had already started the movie back up by the time she sat down, and he didn’t once look at her as she made herself comfortable, trying to forget the way he'd just fucking _made eyes_ at her over the back of her sofa. It wasn't easy; she had to take a few deep breaths to calm herself down. But eventually, little by little, her attention shifted back towards the television until everything else faded to the background. Despite herself, and Felix’s proximity, she found herself getting drawn back into the movie, watching as the hobbits fled the Shire, ran into Strider, and then left Bree for the wilds. She relaxed, sinking back into the cushions, nestling in under the blanket she stashed under the side pillow.

It was so... companionable. She’d not have thought it possible two weeks ago. Then, the thought of her sharing food, a couch, and her Friday night with Angry Gym Guy would have been inconceivable. 

Now, it was almost natural.

“I hope your friend got a good picture.”

Byleth winced, tearing her eyes away from the screen and the hobbits fleeing to Rivendell. 

“You saw that?” she asked, suspicions from earlier confirmed.

Felix snorted. “Hard to miss, with him hanging out the window,” he admitted.

“He’s not terribly subtle,” she agreed. Caught, she grabbed for her phone, navigating to the picture Claude had sent and showing it to Felix. 

He studied it for the briefest of moments before rolling his eyes and handing it back. “He’s nosy is what he is.”

She couldn’t argue with that.

“How do you know him?”

“I met him when I moved in here a couple years ago,” she replied. “Claude came over and helped me unpack when he saw that I didn’t have anyone to help me with my boxes. Then we got Thai food, got way too drunk on Singha beer, and he’s been stuck to me like a burr ever since.”

Felix frowned, turning to face her more fully. “No one helped you?”

“I don’t really have any family,” she explained. “And at the time, I didn’t really have many friends.” She shot him a sheepish look. “Sounds kind of pathetic, doesn’t it?”

“No,” he said simply, as if that settled that.

“Claude is… well, he’s probably as close as I’ll ever come to having a brother. A little brother,” she clarified. “The annoying one that knows how to push all of your buttons.” She tilted her head to the side, deciding to push it now that Felix seemed more open to discussion. “Do you have any little brothers?”

He was silent for a long moment - long enough for the first disc of the movie to draw to a stop, spitting out the reminder to exchange it for the one that contained the second half of the movie.

“I’m the little brother,” he said finally. 

“Oh. Then… you have an older brother?”

“Had.”

Ah. 

Dammit.

“Glenn died when I was in high school.” 

“I’m sorry to hear that,” she said, wondering if she should make some attempt to comfort him. On the one hand, this was no new tragedy and she barely knew Felix; on the other, the shift in his mood had been so stark, so sudden, she couldn’t help but-

“Don’t be,” he said sharply, scowling. “You didn’t know him.”

She blinked, retracting the hand that had begun to creep down her leg towards his arm. He noticed, eyes flicking down to her fingers, and huffed out a breath, frustrated.

“I didn’t mean that. It - it was ten years ago,” he added, shaking his head. “So don’t - just don’t.” 

Byleth nodded, curling her fingers around her ankle.

She gave him a minute to collect himself, watching as the heat faded from his face and the tension eased from his shoulders. It was a slow process; by the time he looked at her again, the sun had set completely, the only light in the room the dim glow of the television screen.

“You said you have no family?”

She nodded. “My mother died when I was very young, so it was always just Dad and me,” she explained. “We moved around a lot too. He was a coach - track and field. Had to go where there were job openings.” 

Something gleamed in Felix’s eyes - recognition, perhaps, or understanding. “He taught you how to run,” he guessed.

“Everything I know,” she agreed, nodding. 

“What happened to him?”

A rueful smile twisted at her lips. “Heart attack,” she said. “Ironic, isn’t it? He spent his whole life teaching kids about cardiovascular endurance, ran marathons on his off weekends…” She snorted, shaking her head. “I couldn’t believe it when they told me.”

She still couldn’t, sometimes. 

Jeralt had always been so strong, so solid. The thought of anything taking him out had just always seemed absurd to her. He was strong as an ox, healthy as a horse. And maybe all little kids thought of their parents like that - idolized them, thought nothing could ever happen to them. She certainly had. 

It had made for one very painful phone call.

She took a deep breath, forcing back those dark thoughts, and looked back to Felix, offering him a small smile. 

“He would’ve liked you, though,” she said. “I think.”

Whatever Felix had been expecting her to say next, it hadn’t been that. “What?” he demanded, frowning.

“You have good running form,” she explained.

“...are you shitting me?”

“What? No,” she said, laughing at the utterly confused expression on Felix’s face. “I’m serious - he would have liked you.”

He flushed, pink cheeks visible even in the dim light. “Whatever.”

“Except the smoking - he’d have given you such shit about that.”

“I’m not quitting.”

“Never said you had to.”

“Good.”

“Good.”

“...Glenn did, too.”

Byleth raised an eyebrow. “Did what?”

“Gave me shit about smoking.”

“Ah.”

“Told me I’d ruin any running career I’d ever have,” he continued. “And my teeth.”

“Well, I can’t speak for your running career, but your teeth look fine to me.”

He glared at her for that. Byleth just laughed, nudging his side with the tip of her toes. 

“Kidding,” she said. “I’m kidding. They’re beautiful teeth, Felix. Really.”

“Shut up.”

“If you insist. We’re ready for disc two anyways.” 

She stood, moving towards the television so she could switch out part one of the movie for part two. “Unless you’d rather head out now,” she offered, turning back towards him at the last second.

It was a fair offer, she thought - things had certainly gotten a lot heavier than she’d intended to when she’d invited him over for beer and hobbits. Families, old friends, things dangerously close to _feelings_ about said families and friends…

Well, she wouldn’t have blamed him if he was ready to make a quick exit.

Instead, he just raised an eyebrow at her. 

“It’s just-” She paused, thinking about how to articulate what she meant. “That was a lot of… talking.” 

Wholly, totally insufficient. 

Great.

“So?” 

“You don’t like talking.”

“I don’t like talking to stupid people.”

Oh.

Well, that just made sense, now didn’t it?

“You’re not - you’re - you’re alright,” Felix said finally, crossing his arms over his chest and staring steadily at the floor. “Talking with you isn’t… terrible.”

Byleth smiled at that, something warm blooming in her chest. 

It wasn’t a compliment - not really.

But coming from Felix, it was just as good.

“Disc two, then?”

He nodded.

“Disc two.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is the most random chapter ever, lmao, I swear I have a plan here
> 
> next up: cake night/not-date night


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> cake night, part 1! This was getting way too long so it's split up into two parts :)

“Cake night.”

“Yes.”

“...Felix hates cake.”

“So he said.”

“...I don’t understand.”

Byleth shrugged, turning towards the next aisle in the supermarket. To be fair, she didn’t really understand it either, and she'd given it a lot of thought over the past week. Why _had_ Felix agreed to bake a cake with her? 

Best case scenario - Felix needed an excuse to come over to her apartment again. Suggesting they bake a cake provided that excuse. But so did the fact that they still had two Lord of the Rings movies to go, so unless he was trying to be extra thorough and cover all his bases, she couldn’t make sense of it.

Not that she was complaining. It saved her the trouble of having to _ask_ him to come over. 

Beside her, Dorothea sighed. “Well, if he eats it, I hope you get a picture,” she said, looking over the spices for cream of tartar. “For posterity, of course - ‘Felix’s first dessert’.”

Byleth smiled to herself. Oh, she planned to - documentation was a requirement of this sort of endeavor. Some stealth might be necessary to get the right photos - as she doubted Felix would voluntarily pose with a bowl of batter and a mixing spoon - but she thought she was up for the challenge.

“Ah, here it is.” Dorothea picked out a jar filled with a white powder, handing it over to Byleth, who transferred it to the shopping basket. “What else do you need?”

Byleth consulted the list Lysithea had drawn up for her. “Is there a difference between flour and cake flour?” she asked. 

“There must be,” Dorothea replied. “Why make the distinction, otherwise?”

“Then cake flour.”

They continued down the aisle of baking supplies, looking for the ingredient. 

“I take it things are going well then.” Byleth raised an eyebrow, and Dorothea added, “ _I’ve_ never gotten him to agree to come over and cook with me, and believe me, I’ve offered - though I guess there are other things on the table here that I _didn’t_ offer.” She smirked, shooting Byleth a pointed look.

Byleth flushed. “Ah, that’s not-”

A lie - abjectly false. That very much _was_ on the table, and the both of them knew it. 

She changed tack, clearing her throat. “I’m not sure he’s interested in that.”

Dorothea made a surprised noise. “What?”

“I keep trying to… you know,” she said, waving a hand. “He doesn’t seem interested.”

Oh, sure, he’d fuck her with his eyes, and shoot her that smirk that said he knew exactly what he was doing. He’d flirt with her, in his unique, abrasive sort of way. But despite her best efforts, so far, that was the extent of their courtship. 

Was it her? Was she not signaling well enough? She thought back, thinking of how she’d invited him inside, how she’d asked him over, how they were now _baking a cake_ together. No - she thought that, along with the blatant ogling, was pretty self-explanatory. She didn’t think she could make it any more obvious that she was down to fuck without physically jumping him.

“Oh, honey - he’s interested.”

“How do you know?” Byleth asked, frustrated. What did Dorothea see that she didn't? What was she missing here?

“It’s a sixth sense you develop, once you’ve known Felix for a while. Something about the eyes, when he’s talking about something he likes.”

“...the eyes.”

“Mm-hmm! Oh, there it is - the cake flour.” Dorothea pointed to a red box on a shelf near the floor, and Byleth bent over to grab it. “He talks about you quite a lot, you know.”

Sylvain had said much the same thing, though she hadn’t known whether or not to take it at face value. Sylvain exaggerated sometimes. But coming from both Sylvain _and_ Dorothea, she was more inclined to accept it. Two data points were better than one, and all.

“What does he say?”

“That you’re a monster who watches movie trilogies out of order and likes dark beer,” Dorothea replied, teasing. “Which, of course, means he finds you fascinating and doesn’t know why.”

Byleth snorted, steering them towards the dairy section to pick up a carton of eggs. “If you say so.”

“With Felix, it’s more about what he doesn’t say than what he says.”

“And what hasn’t he said?”

“Well, he’s never once said that he hates you, for one thing. Which is a very good sign, by the way, as he frequently lists off things that he hates at random intervals throughout the day.”

Byleth wasn’t sure that was a particularly ringing endorsement.

She said as much, and Dorothea shook her head, auburn curls bouncing every which way. “Trust me, if Felix dislikes something, or someone, he makes it known,” she said. “With you, he has pointedly ignored giving any sort of opinion. And we’ve asked him. That means something.”

Maybe.

Maybe not.

Who knew? 

“Sometimes Felix just… takes a little while to act.”

Byleth grabbed for the carton of eggs, getting some milk while she was at it, listening intently as Dorothea kept up her explanation.

“I know it’s weird, because Felix is also the very definition of reckless - but when it comes to this sort of thing, he can also be very cautious.” 

“This sort of thing?”

“You know,” Dorothea replied, smirking. “Feelings.”

“Ah, the f-word.”

“The very same. It takes a while for him to get to a point where he trusts people and really starts opening up.”

“Why?”

It was a rhetorical question, mostly. But Byleth couldn’t deny she was curious. What had happened to Felix to make him so guarded, so reluctant to give up personal information? In her experience, people weren’t like that for no reason. 

She wasn’t really expecting an answer. So when Dorothea sighed, and said, “It’s a long story,” she wasn’t terribly disappointed.

A little - but not too much.

She shrugged if off, steering them back towards the prepared food section to grab something for lunch. It was probably better if Felix told her anyways. There was a lot of nuance lost between a primary and secondary source, and though she was sure Dorothea would do the tale justice, some things would inevitably get lost in the retelling. 

Dorothea pulled her to a stop, crooking her arm through Byleth’s. “He really does like you,” she insisted, beseeching. "I don't mean to make you doubt him."

Byleth blinked. “You didn't. I believe you.” 

_Mostly,_ her brain added, ever helpful.

“Felix is…” Dorothea’s eyes wandered, as if she were searching for inspiration. Finally, they landed upon a selection of cakes arranged near the deli counter. “He’s like a cake!”

“...a cake.”

“He has layers,” Dorothea said sagely.

“...is this a Shrek reference? Like the onion bit?”

“What? No!” Dorothea paused, considering. “Well, I guess - I mean, I guess that one works too.” She cleared her throat, smiling. “All I’m saying is that while it takes some time to really get to know Felix, once you do…”

“He’s all gooey and sweet and sticky?”

“...alright, maybe the onion reference _is_ a little more on-brand.”

Byleth snorted. “I won’t tell him you said that.”

“Please don’t,” Dorothea agreed.

“And… I won’t rush him.”

She hadn’t been planning to - though she didn't like it, she could be patient when she wanted to, and if running had taught her anything, it was that life was about playing the long game. You didn’t win marathons in the first few miles - you won them at mile twenty, when everyone else was hitting the wall and you either pushed through your mental barriers or broke down. 

Relationships were no different.

“No?”

“I’ll take your word for it that he likes me.”

“He does, Byleth - he really does. This isn’t a physical thing at all. It’s entirely emotional.”

Truth be told, she’d almost prefer that it _was_ physical. For all the crap Sylvain and Dorothea were giving their friend about having a hard time dealing with his emotions… Byleth knew she wasn’t much better. 

It wasn’t from any particular childhood trauma, or dealing with some repressed grief - nothing so serious as that. She just wasn’t a particularly emotional person. She never had been. Even when she’d been a child, she’d never been overly affectionate or warm and bubbly.

One of her teachers had noticed and told her once that she lacked empathy.

Jeralt had promptly told that teacher where exactly she could put her unwanted opinions, but the line had stuck with her through the years. Maybe it was true; maybe she just didn’t… _feel_ things the way that other people did. Maybe highly emotional experiences didn’t penetrate some core part of her; perhaps she just put all those feelings into a box and promptly ignored them as best as she could. It would explain why she hadn’t been in a serious relationship in, well, ever, and how the only event that had seriously affected her in the past decade had been Jeralt’s death.

Or maybe that was all a load of bullshit, like Jeralt had said. 

She didn’t like to think too hard on it. 

There was a light squeeze on her arm, and she looked up, drawn from her thoughts. Dorothea smiled, lifting an eyebrow. 

“You still with me?”

She nodded. “Just thinking,” she said. 

“About Felix?”

Sure. Close enough. No need to drag out the heavy stuff.

Byleth shrugged, and Dorothea let out a happy sigh. “You two are so cute,” she said. “I’m so happy you’re dating.”

“We’re not-”

“Oh, please. Call it whatever you want. But you’re dating.”

Byleth wasn’t so sure - words and labels were important. Dating implied you had actually gone on a _date_ with someone, and maybe made plans to do it again. What she and Felix had…

...wasn’t that.

“So tell me, what are you wearing tonight?”

“Clothes.”

“ _Byleth_ -”

“Comfortable clothes?”

“You’re hopeless.” 

Dorothea started walking again; linked as they were at the arms, Byleth had no choice but to follow her friend into the deli in search of lunch.

“Luckily," she added, "I think that means you’re just Felix’s type.”

Did it?

Huh.

Byleth found that a strangely heartwarming thought.

* * *

At five-thirty that night, two things happened simultaneously.

First, Felix texted to let her know that he was going to be late.

Second, there was a raucous pounding at her front door.

This did not compute.

Byleth frowned down at her phone, wondering if maybe Felix’s signal had cut out at a weird time and the message had taken too long to send. But a closer inspection revealed that the time stamp of his last text message was precisely one minute ago, effectively eliminating him from consideration.

Who, then, could be knocking so hard at her door?

She could think of only one person. 

Pushing to her feet, she padded over to the front door and peered out the peephole, revealing a very gleeful Claude and a less than enthusiastic Lysithea.

Suspicions confirmed.

“I only have a few minutes,” she announced as she swung the door open, giving Claude her most serious look.

He peered inside - snooping, no doubt. “Felix not here?” he asked. 

“Not yet.”

“Damn. I thought I’d timed it perfectly!”

“...timed _what_ perfectly?”

“My introduction, of course.” His inspection of her apartment over, Claude finally turned back towards her, eyes glancing over her frame. “That’s what you’re wearing?” 

Man, that was two knocks against her casual style - it wasn’t that bad, was it? She looked down at her outfit: a tank top and gym shorts, nice and simple. Clean, too; she’d made sure she’d pulled them from the right pile before pulling them on.

“What’s wrong with this?” she asked, pulling absently at the hem line.

“It’s just so… casual.”

She frowned. “We’re baking a cake, Claude.”

“So?”

“What do you want me to wear, a dress?”

“Well, no, but something a little…” He made a vague gesture with his hands.

Beside him, Lysithea sighed. “You don’t wear fancy clothes while baking, Claude,” she said. 

Vindicated, Byleth nodded. "Yes, what she said."

“Okay, okay, _fine,_ if not something elegant, then maybe at least a little more… sexy?”

“...sexy.”

“Yeah!”

“...I’m not baking a cake in lingerie, if that’s what you mean.”

“Aw, come on!”

“Have you ever washed a lace bra?” Byleth demanded. “They’re a pain in the ass when they’re _clean._ ”

“You could always wear an apron,” Lysithea suggested.

Claude grinned, snapping his fingers. “That’s it! A little black apron to cover up your little black balconette -” He paused, lifting an eyebrow. “Wait, do you even have an apron?”

“No,” she said flatly.

Undaunted, he turned to Lysithea. “Lysithea, I need your help. Fetch me one of your aprons!”

Lysithea rolled her eyes, ignoring him in favor of turning to Byleth. “Fine - but if you get anything other than cake batter on it, I’ll cut you.”

“What else would I - never mind,” Byleth said quickly, not liking the mischievous glint in Claude’s eyes. She cleared her throat, giving him her sternest look. “I’m not wearing lingerie - and I don’t think I’ll need an apron, though thank you for offering. It seemed like a simple recipe; I don’t think we’ll make too much of a mess.”

“Did you read it?” Lysithea asked.

“Yes.”

She crossed her arms over her chest. “Did you read it _twice_?”

“...no.”

Lysithea sniffed, letting Byleth know in no certain terms, what her opinion of _that_ was.

“You know, I’ve got some time until Felix gets here. Maybe I’ll go do that now.” 

"Good plan."

“Hey, wait-”

“Bye, Claude.”

Claude looked like he was about to protest, but Byleth was faster. She hastily thanked Lysithea again for the recipe, shoved Claude’s foot out of the door, and slammed it in his face. 

Politely.

He _was_ a friend, after all. 

Shaking her head, she retreated into the kitchen, pulling out her phone to check for messages. She ignored the one Claude had just sent her - a picture of his _very_ pouty face, Lysithea rolling her eyes in the background - and clicked on the one from Felix.

 **< Felix > **Fucking jackass

She lifted an eyebrow at that.

 **< Byleth >** Who’s the jackass?

Not immediately expecting a response, she set the phone down on the counter and started pulling out ingredients. Eggs, cake flour, salt, sugar… she arranged them in a neat line, pulling out a few of the mixing bowls they’d need. Regrettably, she didn’t have a stand mixer; they’d have to make the meringue by hand, then. 

How hard could it be?

Her phone buzzed, and she turned, checking to see what Felix had said.

 **< Felix > **My father

Ah.

Ouch.

Curious though she was, Byleth thought it best to leave that particular bear unpoked. 

**< Felix > **I’m almost there

 **< Byleth > **If Claude is still standing outside my door, please kick him

 **< Felix > **Happily

She hoped, for Claude’s sake, that he’d retreated into his apartment.

After setting the last few items they’d need on the counter, and putting the recipe within arm’s reach, she settled onto a barstool to wait. Sothis, who’d been sniffing around the kitchen curiously since she’d opened the refrigerator to grab the eggs, padded over hopefully, sticking her nose in Byleth’s hands.

“I don’t have anything for you, girl,” Byleth admitted, scratching her behind the ears. “Sorry.”

Sothis gave her a mournful look.

“But I’ll save you a piece of cake. Promise”

 _That_ earned her a lick.

“Somehow, I doubt Felix is going to eat very much of it . We may end up doing most of the work.”

It was a cross they’d gladly bear.

Fingers still tangled in Sothis’ fur, Byleth looked down at her outfit. Was it really too casual? She’d thought it was fine, but after what Claude and Dorothea had said… she was second-guessing herself. Maybe she _should_ put a little more effort in how she looked. It wasn’t a date, sure, but she _was_ trying to score here. 

She frowned, thinking of what she could do in five minutes or less.

Lip gloss?

No, not worth the effort - her hair would just get stuck to her lips, and then it’d all come off anyways once they actually got down to eating said cake.

Different t-shirt? 

She had a few that weren’t quite so ordinary as the plain white tee she was currently wearing. Dorothea had picked most of them out, and they weren’t really to Byleth’s taste; there was too much glitter and too many ribbons for that. But there also wasn’t anything _wrong_ with them. Perhaps against her better judgment, she’d allowed them to stay.

Ah, but none of them would go very well with the neon green shorts she’d selected. Then she’d have to change her entire outfit, and that seemed like a lot of work.

Maybe she could just do something with her hair, tie it back in something other than a sloppy ponytail for once-

A knock at the door interrupted her musings.

Well. 

No time for that now.

Felix, she could tell, was in quite a mood. His lips were pulled to the side in as vicious a scowl as she’d ever seen, and his shoulders were stiff, tense. It was the look of someone who wanted, very desperately, to punch something - or someone.

“Sorry,” he grunted, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. 

For what, he didn’t say. 

Byleth wordlessly stepped to the side to let him in, following as he stalked down the hallway to her kitchen. He paused at the entrance, surveying her supplies with a cool gaze. “That’s it?” he asked. 

She cocked her head to the side in question.

“That’s all you need to make a cake?”

“That’s all you need to make _this_ cake,” she replied.

He snorted, turning towards her and holding out a bag. “I brought the pan.”

Byleth stepped forward to grab it, fishing the tin out and studying it. When Felix had announced he had a cake pan they could use, she’d been suspicious. Felix didn’t like cake, after all. Why would he have a cake pan? But much to her surprise, it looked to be exactly what they needed, the size and shape reminiscent of every angel food cake she’d ever seen. 

Huh. Imagine that.

She set it on the counter before heading to turn the oven on to preheat, offering Felix a drink as she passed him by.

“You look like you need it,” she mused.

He grumbled something under his breath, leaning back against the counter. Byleth couldn’t quite make out the words, but his tone said enough.

She bypassed the beer and went straight for the bourbon, pulling two shot glasses out of a cabinet and pouring them each a healthy dose. “Cheers,” she muttered, sliding one across the counter towards him.

He caught it with a deft hand and took a sip, barely even wincing at the taste.

It was odd to see him so angry. She’d gotten used to seeing a… she hesitated to use the word _soft,_ because that was the _last_ word she’d ever use to describe the man she’d once known as Angry Gym Guy, but she’d gotten accustomed to a less caustic version of Felix the past couple of weeks. Seeing him revert to that guy she’d used to know was strange.

Why had he even come, she wondered? 

He could have cancelled or asked if they could reschedule. She’d have understood - shit happened, and sometimes, you didn’t want to be around other people. 

Maybe he was only here out of obligation? 

Byleth didn’t like that. She wanted Felix to be here because he _wanted_ to be here, not because he felt like he'd had to come. Otherwise, what was the point? For either of them?

She cleared her throat, trying to catch his attention.

His eyes, so similar in color to the whiskey sloshing in his glass, flicked up to hers. 

“If you’d rather go, I get it,” she said. 

He raised an eyebrow, piercings glinting in the light. 

“You seem upset,” she continued, pausing to take a sip - and then pausing again as she waited for the fire to finish sliding down her throat. “So if you want to take a rain check-”

“No.”

Byleth blinked. “No?”

“I - no.” 

He didn’t elaborate. For a full minute he sat there, staring at the floor and gathering his thoughts. She half-wondered if there even _was_ a second half to what he’d been trying to say, or if that had been the whole of it. Then, just when she’d about given up, he huffed out a breath and spoke. 

“If I didn’t want to be here, I wouldn’t have come,” he snapped. 

“Oh. Okay.”

He downed the rest of the whiskey in one go, admirably only coughing once. “So don’t look at me like that,” he added, wiping his lips on the back of his hand.

“Like what?” 

“Like you see right through me.”

It was a surprisingly deep thing to say, and Byleth found herself at a loss for words, uncertain of how to respond. Luckily for her, Felix seemed as reticent to linger on the subject as she was.

“Now let’s bake this fucking cake.”

That, she could do.

The first step, Lysithea had written, was to make superfine sugar. It wasn't hard, she'd said - you just put the sugar in a food processor and pulsed it a bit, breaking up the granules into smaller bits.

So while Felix measured out a dubious amount of sugar to grind, she set about separating the egg whites from the yolks. There were tools to do this, she knew - she’d seen the fancy gadgets advertised on the two a.m. infomercials. Unfortunately, she had never felt compelled to buy said oddly niche kitchen utensils. She regretted that immensely as she started the slimy process of separating eggs by hand.

There was a sudden loud whirring to her left, accompanied by a loud, “Fuck!”

She looked up, egg yolk still in hand, just in time to see the top of the food processor fly off, sugar grains flung every which way. 

Well.

Maybe this would be a little harder than anticipated.

Byleth sighed. “Get the broom,” she said, nodding towards the corner closet where she stashed the cleaning supplies. “Don’t let Sothis eat that.”

Felix shot her a bewildered look. “Sothis?”

“My dog.”

“You named your dog after an ancient _goddess_ -”

There was a flash of brown to the left, and Byleth panicked.

“The broom - now! She’s on the move!”

Byleth took a step towards her, trying to ward her off before she could reach the sugar - conveniently forgetting that her hands were full of egg. The yolk slipped through her fingers, splattering on the floor with a disgusting noise. 

“Shit,” she cursed, reaching for a towel. “ _Shit.”_

While she was busy wiping off her hands, Sothis gave up all pretenses of sneaking. She darted forward and licked a long stripe of sugar off the floor, snatching up a bit of egg while she was at it. Byleth made a swipe for her, trying to grab her around the middle, but it was no use; she knew Byleth too well for that, easily evading her grasp. 

She made a frustrated noise, looking around for Felix. What on earth was taking him so long? She’d asked him to grab a _broom,_ for crying out loud-

A loud crack split the air, something swinging wildly in her peripheral vision.

Ah, he had found the broom, then.

Sure enough, the next thing she saw was Felix slipping into some kind of fighting stance, the broom held before him like a lethal weapon. It would have been comical were they not in for the fight of the evening against a most crafty foe.

Sothis eyed Felix warily, judging him. 

“Don’t try it!” he warned, bringing the broom down into a defensive position.

She tried it.

Slippery as a snake, she flung herself forward, sliding through his legs and straight into one very big pile of sugar.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” Byleth snapped. “Corner her - I’ll have to put her in the crate until we can clean up.”

Together, they worked to pin Sothis down, Felix coming at her from the left and Byleth from the right. Still, she was clever, giving them the slip for a good ten minutes in her eagerness to get back into the kitchen. It took Felix throwing himself around her middle and Byleth hauling the both of them over to where the crate sat in order to get Sothis contained. 

Their task accomplished, the both of them collapsed to the floor in a panting heap.

“Why is your dog so fucking strong?” he demanded, blowing hair out of his face.

“It’s the sugar,” Byleth wheezed. “It gives her power.”

“Fuck.”

“We still have to clean that up, too.”

“ _Fuck.”_

A sentiment Byleth shared.

But now that Sothis was out of the picture, it was quick work to get the rest of the errant sugar off the floor. Felix swept while Byleth cleaned up the rest of the mess, and soon enough, they were back to where they’d started.

“Keep a hold on the lid this time,” she warned, nodding towards the food processor.

Felix shot her a dark look. “I had a hold on it _last_ time.”

Still sweaty and out of breath from wrangling Sothis into submission and covered in stray sugar sprinkles, Byleth was in no mood for any such bullshit. 

“Clearly,” she retorted, daring him to say differently.

He didn’t - though he did (half-heartedly) flip her the bird when her back was turned. Still, he did as she advised, careful to keep a hand on the food processor, and their sugar ended up nice and finely ground.

“Here,” he said, shoving a bowl of sugar towards her. “Finely ground sugar. What’s next?”

Byleth consulted her recipe. “Sift the flour and salt and mix with half the sugar. Can you do that?”

“An infant could do that,” he retorted, grabbing for the flour and a measuring cap.

An infant could _not_ do that, considering their relative lack of fine motor skills, but she didn’t mention that, merely watching as Felix combined the dry ingredients together. With vigor, she noticed. A _lot_ of vigor - much more force than was required to mix flour, sugar, and salt.

This boded well for the meringue. Maybe her lack of a mixer wouldn’t be an issue after all.

He noticed. “What are you staring at?” he snapped. 

“You.”

Her response caught him off-guard, his movements slowing. Then his eyes narrowed, suspicions raised. “And why is that?”

“How long do you think you can stir for?” 

“As long as I need to.”

“You're sure?”

“Of course I’m sure.”

He was confident - overly so, even.

Unable to resist the grin curling at her lips, she handed him the bowl of egg whites and a clean spoon. “Have at it.”

He eyed both dubiously. “I just… stir it?”

“Until it starts to foam - then you’ll gradually add the rest of the sugar in.”

He scoffed. “Easy.”

It was not, in fact, easy.

Two minutes in, and Felix was a little red in the face, gritting his teeth as he continued to whip the egg whites as fast as he could. Four minutes in, and he was huffing. 

“How are they looking?”

Byleth took a step forward, peering into the bowl; the egg whites, though starting to bubble up, weren’t quite what she’d consider a foam. 

“More.”

Felix cursed, putting on a sudden burst of speed - though whether it was out of frustration, desperation, or sheer, stubborn force of will, she couldn’t tell. It proved short lived regardless, and Byleth found herself wondering if perhaps she should offer to help. Probably not, she reasoned - Felix wasn’t the sort to like accepting help from anyone. 

Even with as mundane a task as stirring _raw eggs._

So she sat back, waiting patiently as Felix continued to struggle, trying to keep a straight face. 

“This is fucking ridiculous,” he panted, glaring up at her. “Why do people do this for a living?”

“Well, they normally have stand mixers.”

He stopped mixing. “ _What?_ ”

“Don't stop!" she said quickly. He resumed his mixing. "I don’t have one or I’d have dug it out-”

“There is a _machine_ that does this-”

“Well, yeah.”

The string of expletives he let out at that was truly impressive. Taking pity on him, Byleth took another glance into the bowl, happy to see that the egg whites had started to shift in color. “Oh, good,” she muttered. “We can start adding the sugar.”

She motioned for Felix to keep stirring as she gradually started to spoon in the sugar, and before her eyes, the meringue started to take shape. 

“Is it supposed to look like that?” Felix asked, suspicious.

“I… think so?”

“It’s so… fluffy.” 

Byleth snorted. Only Felix could make “fluffy” sound like a dirty word. “That’s what makes the cake light and airy,” she explained, parroting back what Lysithea had told her earlier. 

“The fluff does that?”

“The fluff does that.”

“...baking is weird.”

Weird - but cool.

Once she was satisfied with the meringue - as satisfied as someone with her low level of skill could be, at least - she motioned for Felix to stop. The next step, Lysithea had told her, was the most important and required the most delicacy. They would have to fold the dry ingredients into the meringue - gently, so they didn’t dispel the air Felix had just spent precious minutes of his life whipping into the egg whites. But if they were _too_ gentle, the ingredients wouldn’t mix properly and the cake would taste off.

It was a balancing act. Byleth hoped she was up to the task.

Felix watched as she worked, pouring in a third of the dry ingredients at a time and softly carding them through the egg whites. She continued to do this until everything was in one bowl, and her batter had a nice, uniform color and texture. There - it was finished.

Right?

The jury was still out on taste, but it _looked_ nice - still light and fluffy, soft and silky in texture.

“Get the pan,” she said.

He held it still as she spooned the batter out, trying to distribute it as evenly as possible around the ring. Once she was satisfied that she’d gotten it as nice and flat as she could, she took it to the oven and slipped it inside to bake.

Well, then. All done. They had successfully made a cake.

Perhaps that was a little premature. It still had to finish cooking. And the real task - convincing Felix to eat said cake - yet lay before her. 

Still. She thought they’d done rather well, all things considered. Only a few mishaps to speak of.

She turned to Felix, about to suggest they order some food while they waited, only to find him staring at her - or, more precisely, at her lips. 

Byleth flushed. “What is it?” she asked. 

“You’ve got-” He put a finger to his lips, tapping them.

“What?” Embarrassed, she swiped at her cheek. She must’ve dusted herself with flour while she was mixing ingredients. Or maybe she’d gotten egg on her face from the snafu with Sothis. “Did I get it?”

He snorted. “Not even close.”

Flustered, she swiped at the other cheek, brushing her fingers across her nose for good measure. Goddess, did she have it in her _hair_?

“No, you’re not - here.” Felix stepped forward. “Don’t move.”

Oh, she had no intention of doing that - not when he was moving close to her, staring at her that intently. He put a thumb to her chin, dragging it from one side to the other ever so slowly, swiping away whatever she'd managed to get on her face. 

Then his hand went still, thumb dangerously close to the corner of her mouth, and Byleth found she had to remind herself to breathe.

“Did you get it?” she murmured.

He didn’t reply.

“Felix?” 

“Yes?” 

For once, his eyes met hers and held. They were dark, brown almost entirely eclipsed with black, heavy with intent. Byleth found she couldn’t look away, even as she pressed her luck and took a step closer. 

He didn’t withdraw - but she didn’t miss his sharp inhale, or the way his focus zeroed in on her parted lips. 

_Patience-_

Her nerves felt afire, every instinct in her body telling her to move, to _act_ -

- _is a virtue._

But she remembered her promise to Dorothea and held herself still, letting Felix take the first step. He had leaned in, ever so slightly, the hand at her chin curling around her jaw and tilting her face up, up, up towards his, and goddess, she thought he might actually do it, he might actually kiss-

Sothis let out a plaintive yelp, the door of her crate clanging as she swiped a paw against the lock.

Felix jerked back as if he’d been burned, cursing, and Byleth felt all the air rush out of her at once, like a deflated balloon. “Sothis,” she breathed - an apology and explanation all in one. “I forgot to let her out.”

He waved a hand, already turning away from her, pink staining his cheeks.

Byleth padded over to Sothis’ crate, sinking down to her knees to open the door. “Sorry, girl,” she murmured. 

The look Sothis shot her told her she wasn’t quite forgiven. But she offered Byleth one quick lick on her way to the kitchen; a good belly rub and a bite of cake, and she would be properly appeased.

She stood, turning back to Felix. He had a hand in his hair, eyes fixed on the floor somewhere between them. He opened his mouth, a question on his tongue - but halfway to asking, he paused, mouth snapping shut. 

This happened several more times before he finally managed to clear his throat and ask, “How long will the cake take?” 

“Another half hour, at least.”

“...ah. I see.” 

“I was going to ask if you wanted to get food-” she started.

“Food,” he interjected, nodding. “Yes.” 

To her surprise, he grabbed his keys off the counter and started making a break for the door.

“I’ll go get some.”

She frowned, not sure what to make of this. “Felix-”

“Text me what you want.”

"Are you _leaving_?" 

But he was already out the door, leaving her reeling in his wake.

Confused, she plopped down onto the couch. 

"Did I say something?" she asked Sothis, who had joined her on the couch. "Did I do something?"

Sothis tilted her head to the side. 

Byleth snorted. "So you're as confused as I am. Great."

She flopped backwards, staring up at the ceiling. She'd thought - well, she'd thought things were going well. Sure, they'd had a few issues in the kitchen. But that was half the fun of cooking with someone. And then, there at the end, when he'd stepped in and almost-

He'd almost kissed her. She was sure of it.

She swallowed, heat flooding her at the thought. 

Maybe it was good that he'd gone out for a bit. She needed the time to get a hold of herself as much as he did.

She took a few deep breaths, in through the nose, out through the mouth, trying to center herself.

No problem - nothing was wrong. 

Felix would come back, they'd eat, try the cake - and then they'd watch the movie and everything would be fine.

Everything would be _fine._

...right?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sure, Byleth. whatever you say.
> 
> (now I'm imagining the "sure Jan" meme except with Sothis instead of Marcia lmao) 
> 
> As always, thanks so much for reading! :) I've been having so much fun writing this so I hope it's enjoyable to read!


	8. Chapter 8

Felix was gone for about twenty minutes.

Twenty minutes and thirty-six seconds.

Not that she was counting.

When he returned, he stalked back into Byleth’s apartment as quietly as possible, smelling of cigarette smoke, buffalo sauce, and chagrin as he set a bag of take-out on the counter.

Byleth padded over to the kitchen to join him - warily, so as not to spook him - eyeing what he’d brought back. Standard fare, it seemed - a couple boxes of wings, extra sauce, cups of ranch and bleu cheese dressing on the side. A smaller box held an assortment of fries and potato wedges, and someone - certainly not Felix - had shoved in a couple of brownies wrapped in cellophane.

Her stomach growled appreciatively, and Felix wordlessly handed her a plate.

“Thanks,” she murmured.

Uncertain which were spicy and which were not, Byleth watched as Felix loaded up his own dish. He made his selections from the box on the right, the sauce dripping from the wings nearly as dark and red as blood. It was… somewhat disconcerting, to tell the truth. A little menacing. She leaned in to try and get a whiff, wondering what the flavor was, and earned herself a set of burned nostrils for her trouble.

“Shit,” she breathed, coughing. “Those smell spicy.”

Felix harrumphed, scowling down at his plate. “They were out of the sauce I like,” he said. “So I had to get this one.”

“There’s something _hotter_ than that?” she asked, incredulous. She'd barely gotten a hint of them, and her nose felt singed. She could only imagine what something like that would do to her _mouth._

He shot her a look. “This one was just an eight out of ten.”

Byleth crossed her arms over her chest, frowning. “What’s even the point? I mean, can you taste the spices, or does everything just taste... hot?”

“Of course I can taste them-”

“There is a _warning_ label on this receipt,” she pointed out, grabbing for the paper Felix had set on the counter. “‘Warning: sauce may cause irritation to eyes, skin, and mucous membranes, stop eating at once if redness, itching, or burning occurs-”

“Give me that,” he snapped, deftly prying the receipt from her fingers. 

“Eating these seems hazardous to your health.”

“They’re fine.”

“Are they, though?”

Purely to prove her wrong, Felix picked up a wing, brought it to his lips, and proceeded to eat it, making sure to lick the extra sauce off the bone. Once he was finished, he dropped it back onto his plate, wiped off his hands, and lifted an eyebrow, daring her to say more.

“That’s… that’s only one,” she pointed out. “Eat ten and then get back to me.”

His eyes narrowed at the challenge. “You think I can’t?”

“I’m just saying, I don’t have any milk. So if you need something to take the edge off later, you’re out of luck.”

Felix huffed. “Whatever.” He turned then, looking around her kitchen. His gaze flicked from one cabinet to another before he stepped forward, opening the closest set. 

She had a bad feeling about this. 

She watched as he started rummaging around, opening and closing doors as he went about his search. What, exactly, was he looking for? Whatever it was, she wasn’t sure he would find it; her pantry was notoriously sparse, the spice rack hanging over the stove the only thing she kept reasonably stocked. She didn’t see the point in having a lot of extra foodstuffs lying around; she rarely planned meals more than a few days in advance, after all, and her hours meant she often ordered out several times a week. 

Felix seemed to come to this conclusion as well, finally turning back to her with an exasperated look on his face.

“Where the fuck is all your kitchen shit?” he demanded.

Byleth choked on the french fry she’d been chewing on. “ _Kitchen shit?_ ” she repeated.

“Sauces, oil, canned shit-”

“I don’t do a lot of grocery shopping.”

He shut the door of the last cabinet he’d search with another huff, annoyed.

“But what are you looking for? Maybe I have it stuffed away somewhere-”

“Hot sauce.”

Byleth’s mouth snapped shut, surprise momentarily robbing her of her words.

“I want some hot sauce for the wings,” he clarified.

“...you have got to be shitting me.”

He arched one eyebrow. “Problem?”

“Felix, this is - you are -”

“What?” he demanded. “What am I?” 

Byleth sighed, stepping around him and climbing up onto the countertop so she could reach the top shelf. Inside, tucked away near the back - out of Felix’s sight and hands - was a small jar of hot sauce. It was unopened, a gag gift she’d gotten from Claude one year at one of those stupid white elephant parties people always throw around the holidays.

Not wanting to destroy her taste buds, she’d never opened it - hence why it was currently sitting at the back of the cabinet on the very highest shelf, unused. Why she hadn’t just thrown it away, she couldn’t guess. There was a little dancing pepper emblazoned on the bottle, steam pouring out of his non-existent ears - a warning, she thought, or perhaps a promise of things to come.

She held it out to Felix, shaking her head. 

“Ridiculous,” she answered. “You are _ridiculous._ ”

But, she had to admit, it was a ridiculousness she was growing rather fond of. 

Felix didn’t bother reading the label before popping off the top and pouring a healthy amount onto the wings on his plate. For good measure, he doused the fries with it as well. Byleth did her best to suppress a shudder, picking up her own food and moving a healthy distance away from the carnage. 

True to his word, though, Felix didn’t appear to have any trouble downing the extra-hot wings. She watched in morbid fascination as he ate, wondering if the sixth wing would be the one to do him in - or the eighth, or the eleventh. When he hit fifteen with no signs of slowing down, she had to wonder if maybe he was telling the truth and the heat wasn’t bothering him. 

But no - sweat was beading on his temple, and he’d definitely sniffled a few times. 

It was affecting him.

Or maybe that was just the temperature of the room, she thought, wiping at her own forehead. When had it gotten so hot, and why? She didn’t have central air conditioning; no one in northern Faerghus did, the summers generally mild enough where a fan and an open door were sufficient to cool a room. So if it was this hot, and it wasn’t just the wings -

Ah.

The oven.

She’d been so preoccupied with Felix’s eating habits, she’d almost forgotten about the cake. 

Popping her head over the back of the couch, she glanced at the timer, concerned she’d missed it. But no, there were still several minutes left on the clock; plenty of time to finish up the scraps on her plate. 

She’d just shoveled the last potato wedge into her mouth when Felix abruptly grunted, looking up at her for the first time since he’d sat down beside her. “Why is it so fucking hot in here?” he demanded.

Byleth watched a bead of sweat slowly slide down his neck, unable to tear her gaze away until it hit the collar of his sweater, blending into the dark fabric. 

“You mean apart from the one million Scoville units you just ingested?” 

The glare that earned her was, truthfully, half-hearted at best. The heat must have been affecting him more than he was letting on.

“The oven,” she added. “It’s making everything hot.” 

As if to demonstrate, she pulled her hair a little higher, trying to get her ponytail off the back of her neck. She was glad now that she’d stuck to her original outfit and hadn’t changed into something fancier; anything else and she’d have sweat right through it.

Felix looked down at clothes, annoyance dripping from his features as he yanked at the collar of his top.

“You can always take it off.”

The suggestion was flying off her tongue before she truly realized she’d said it. It was only afterwards, when Felix looked up at her with raised eyebrows, mouth slightly parted, that she’d realized what that sounded like. 

Flushing, she explained, “I mean, I grew up running track and cross country. Like, we all practiced together, and no one wears a shirt in summer, so-” She stopped, taking a deep breath through her nose as she attempted to salvage this. “It won’t bother me.”

Felix stared at her - unabashed, for once, not having any problem keeping eye contact as she squirmed around on the couch. 

She hadn’t meant it to sound so… suggestive. She really hadn’t. He was wearing a turtleneck sweater, for crying out loud, he had to be - well, _sweating._ And if taking it off would make him more comfortable, then hey, she didn’t mind. Like she’d said, she was used to it.

But Felix still hadn’t said anything, just looking at her with that same surprised, open, almost _vulnerable_ expression on his face, and Byleth couldn’t help but feel that she’d fucked this one up too.

The timer on the stove saved her. 

She practically jumped to her feet in her haste to get across the room to the oven, pulling a pair of oven mitts from a side drawer. Slipping them onto her hands, she opened the door and pulled out the rack, surveying the cake for damage. It looked…

Okay.

She had to admit, she was a little less than impressed. The color was a nice golden brown, a little darker in some spots than others, but other than that, it was very nondescript. The batter hadn’t risen as much as she would have liked, the cake barely more than half the height of the pan.

Huh.

Was it done?

Pulling the pan from the oven, she set it on the counter and pulled out a fork. She poked the cake with it, looking at the tines to see if they’d come out clean. 

They did.

She stared down at the fork, confused, and then looked back at the cake. Had they done something wrong? Hesitantly, she poked it with a finger, wondering if it would feel light and spongy, the way cake was supposed to feel. Instead, it was hard, solid, unyielding where she pressed on it.

Fuck.

“Is it supposed to look like that?” 

Felix had joined her, peering over her shoulder at their sad, flat little cake.

Byleth reached for her phone, snapping a quick picture and sending it off to Lysithea. 

“I don’t think so,” she murmured, waiting for a reply. She didn’t think she’d have to wait long; Lysithea was _always_ on her phone, even more than Claude was. 

Sure enough, she received not one, but three messages a moment later, each positively laced with disdain.

 **< Lysithea > **You over whipped the egg whites

 **< Lysithea > **The recipe called for soft peaks, not stiff peaks

 **< Lysithea >** It collapsed in the heat

“Well, shit.” 

She held up her phone, showing him the messages. 

“You’re shitting me,” he said. “I _over_ whipped those fucking egg whites?”

Byleth let out a tiny, nervous laugh. “Ah… maybe?”

The noise he made was halfway between a groan and a growl, and she turned around, ready to wave it off and insist that it would probably still taste good and she would definitely still be eating some of it. But then she realized that Felix had taken her up on her offer and taken off his turtleneck, and every thought in her head vanished all at once. 

Tattoos - so many tattoos. She’d seen snippets of them before, when he’d rolled his sleeves up, but never enough to get the full picture of what they really looked like. Now, with nothing hindering her view, she found herself drinking in the sight of them, committing them all to memory.

His arms were covered from elbow to shoulder, though it didn’t look like there was a particular design scheme. All of them were in the same style, with heavy black outlines and a limited color palette - an eagle was emblazoned on one shoulder, the other sporting a snake curling around a dagger. Simpler items filled in the smaller spaces, as if they had been added afterwards to add coverage. 

She wanted to trace them with her fingers - or with her tongue.

He was looking at her strangely, pink dusting his cheeks. 

She struggled to find something to say, too busy watching his muscles ripple beneath the ink as he shifted from foot to foot.

“An eagle,” she finally managed, clearing her throat. “I’d’ve thought it would’ve been a lion.”

Felix was silent for a moment. Then he snorted, posture relaxing a bit as he leaned his side - also tattooed, she noticed, a sparrow gracing each hip - against the counter. 

“I got it when I was eighteen,” he admitted. “Wanted to piss off my dad - black eagles and shit, the exact opposite of his stupid government contract. Glenn got the lion.”

“Did it? Piss him off, I mean.”

“He was furious.”

She smiled, studying the eagle more closely. It wasn’t _quite_ like the symbols that emblazoned Adrestia’s flag. The coloring and positioning were wrong. But with a passing glance, in the right light… she snorted. She might not have met Felix’s father, but she could imagine it now - eighteen year old Felix, hot-headed and brash, parading his new tattoo around the house, just itching for a fight.

Jeralt wouldn’t have cared. 

Well, maybe he would have if she’d come home with some design permanently etched onto her forehead. He’d probably have laughed at that. But a shoulder tat? 

Nah.

“And this one?” she asked, nodding to the dagger. “Who was that one meant to piss off?”

It was a good, clean tattoo - the dagger was straight as an arrow, its design simple and unadorned. The snake was the intricate part, each scale meticulously wrought so that it looked real, almost life-like as it curled around the weapon’s hilt. 

“It’s part of a matching set,” Felix explained. His brow furrowed as he added, “Or... it was.”

“Glenn?” she guessed. 

He nodded. “Tattoos were his thing,” he said. “He started getting them even before he was eighteen, bribing the guy at the shop down the street.”

“...and that worked?”

Felix snorted. “Glenn always got his way.”

The words easily could’ve sounded petulant or jealous - but that wasn’t the impressive Byleth got. If anything, Felix almost sounded… reminiscent? As if he was just recalling how his brother had been and was relaying it, instead of passing judgment on his character.

“I wanted one so bad,” he went on. “Begged Glenn to take me. He always refused, told me I had to wait until I was older. Fucking rich, coming from him.” He shook his head, lost in a memory. “But then, once I turned seventeen, he took me to a shop and told them he was my legal guardian and signed off for me.”

“What, seriously?”

“No way they fucking believed him. I just don’t think they gave a shit.”

“He wasn’t that much older than you, was he?”

“Few years.”

Her eyes drifted back to the dagger. “And you all got those?”

He nodded. “His was different - the dagger was curved, and the snake was coiled around the blade. But we got them together.”

It was a nice sentiment - getting a set of matching tattoos. 

Annette and Mercedes had gotten them in undergrad, matching flowers on their ankles. And a couple of her teammates in college had gotten matching cross country symbols on their shoulders - to remember their senior season, they’d said. A couple of them had asked her if she wanted to get one too, telling her she was free to tag along.

But Byleth had always declined. She loved running, and she’d liked her teammates. But other than their shared sport, she’d not really had a connection to any of them. They hadn’t been her friends, her confidants. It would have felt… strange, going to get a tattoo with them, as if she were a part of the group. 

With a sibling, though, or a best friend - she might’ve done that.

“You have a lot,” she mused. 

“I guess.”

“You _like_ pissing off your old man, huh?”

It was dangerous, perhaps, to say as much - she put as much bemusement into the words as she could, hoping he could tell she was joking.

He snorted, shooting her a look that told her she’d succeeded. 

“That’s… a fringe benefit,” he admitted. “Mostly, I just like the way they look. And-”

“...and?”

He hesitated, shifting his weight to the other foot, gaze locked on the floor. 

“And… Glenn would’ve given me such shit if I’d chickened out after just one.”

Byleth blinked. It wasn’t what she’d been expecting. But remembering what Dorothea and Sylvain had told her about Felix, about reading in between the lines and listening to what he didn’t say, she thought she understood. 

The tattoos weren’t about the tattoos at all - not really.

They were about his brother.

She smiled, not commenting on how the flush had returned to Felix’s face, how he looked both uncomfortable and defiant at this admission. Not wanting to admit to vulnerability while daring her to call it as such. 

Instead, she turned back to the cake, picking out a knife from the block.

“So,” she said, “shall we try it?”

Felix shrugged, though he moved out of her way as she started to get to work on the cake, sliding the knife around the edge of the pan to loosen it up.

“Hand me a plate?” she asked, putting the oven mitts back on she prepared to pick on the pan.

He obliged, sliding the dish over so it sat next to the cake tin.

“Okay,” she muttered. She could do this. “One, two, three-”

She flipped it, quick as she could, setting the pan on the plate and tapping a bit on the bottom. Her efforts were rewarded with a soft thud, and she stepped back, feeling rather victorious at having accomplished this on the first try. 

Unfortunately, the cake was even sadder outside of the tin than it had been while still inside it. 

The two of them stared at it for several moments - Byleth pondering whether or not to just chuck it in the bin and call a loss a loss, Felix no doubt wondering if he’d still have to eat any of it. She stood by her assessment that it would probably taste okay, but if the texture was really off…

Maybe they could salvage it. 

“Do you like strawberries?”

Fresh fruit, she thought, might give it just the sort of pizzazz it needed. The sharp, sweet taste might mask anything that was off about the flavor, and if they cooked them, made it into more of a strawberry sauce, maybe it would sink into the cake and make it a little less dense-

Felix wrinkled his nose, effectively ending her musings. “No.”

Well, it’d been worth a shot.

She stepped forward, using the knife to cut a slice out of the cake - a very sad, very small slice of cake. She set it off to the side, observing it for a moment, before turning to Felix. 

“Maybe we should have just bought a cake.”

He snorted, and held out a hand for the knife. “Give me that.”

She handed it over, watching as he sliced an even smaller chunk off the side of the slice she’d already cut. Hesitantly, he brought it up to his face, taking a sniff before pinching off the tiniest bit he possibly could and bringing it to his lips.

“How is it?” she asked.

He mulled it over as he chewed, his face surprisingly blank. It gave her hope, made her think that maybe this whole exercise hadn’t been in vain after all-

But then he swallowed, made a face, and stalked over to the sink, washing his mouth out with tap water, and her hopes were dashed.

“Gross,” he sputtered, running a hand over his mouth. 

Uncertain if this was a true assessment or Felix being Felix, Byleth picked up the piece he’d abandoned and took a bite.

It wasn’t… great, she had to admit. It was too dense, hard to chew, and once she _had_ chewed it, it took on a strange gummy consistency. It wasn’t very pleasant to swallow, and she set the rest of the slice back down on the plate in defeat. 

Without comment, she tossed the rest of it in the garbage.

Sothis, who’d been sniffing around the base of the counter, looking for spare french fries, made a mournful nice at this blatant waste of food. 

“You didn’t miss anything, trust me,” Byleth said, patting the dog on the head. “Here.” She reached for a couple of potato wedges, feeding them to Sothis one at a time. “Those are much better.”

Appeased, Sothis ran off to her bed, curling up around her treat and chowing down.

“Your dog is spoiled.”

Byleth blinked, turning to Felix. “I have it on good authority that you have a cat that’s just as spoiled,” she replied. 

He scowled. “Who said that?”

“Sylvain.”

“That-” He huffed. “Arya isn’t spoiled. She’s - taken care of.”

“...Arya?”

“My cat.”

“You named her _Arya_?”

Felix bristled, instantly defensive. “Yes, so?”

“The girl on Game of Thrones who goes around _stabbing people with the pointy end-_ ”

Byleth shook her head, unable to stop the smile that spread across her lips. Predictable - it was so very _predictable_ that Felix would name his pet after a character who, by the end of the series, had turned into a scrappy assassin with a nearly unparalleled fighting technique. 

It was also completely endearing, and once again, she found herself with that warm, heady feeling bubbling up in her chest. 

The one that always popped around when she was around Felix. The one that felt suspiciously like _feelings._

“Yeah, well - _you_ named your dog after an ancient goddess,” he snapped. “So don’t give me shit.”

“It’s cute.”

“ _Cute?_ ” Felix scowled, as if this was the worst possible thing she could’ve said. “My cat’s name is _cute_?”

“Adorable, really.”

She stepped around him, going to set up the movie that was, theoretically, the other half of the reason he’d agreed to come over here tonight. 

Felix wasn’t about to give up so easily though.

“I found her in a back alley, fighting two other cats who wanted to take the food she’d just found,” he snapped. “She is a _fighter,_ not some cute little _kitten_ I bought off a guy on Craigslist-”

“That’s good. You shouldn’t look for a pet on those websites; lots of them are puppy mills.” She paused, the first disc halfway out of its case. “Kitten mills? Is that a thing?”

“She is not _cute._ ”

“Can’t she be both?”

Felix blinked, mouth working furiously for a minute. “What?”

“Can’t she be both cute and ferocious?” Her set-up complete, the movie's title menu flashing up onto the television, Byleth stood, making her way back over to where Felix stood. “I don’t think they’re mutually exclusive.”

As it had been with the idea of a cake without frosting, Felix didn’t seem to have considered this possibility. He stood there, dumbfounded, for several long minutes - long enough that Byleth began to wonder if perhaps she’d broken him. She tugged on his arm, urging him to sit down on the couch beside her.

“Come on, the movie’s starting in a minute.”

That finally spurred him into motion. He sat down with a huff, crossing his arms over his chest as the opening sequence began.

“She’s not _cute,”_ he asserted a minute later, just as Gandalf and the Balrog began fighting. “But she’s not… _not_ cute, either.”

Byleth covered her grin with her hand. “Okay.”

The movie began in earnest then, and the both of them quieted. As the action started to ramp up and fighting sequences began, Felix would offer commentary - on the actor’s movements, on their technique, on how well choreographed the scene was. It quickly became clear that he had some sort of experience. 

“Boarding school,” Felix replied, when she asked where he’d learned about swordplay. 

“That’s a thing?” He shot her a strange look, and she added, “I sincerely thought that was a thing that only happened in rich kid movies.”

He snorted. “I wish,” he muttered. “They’re such bullshit.”

“When was this?”

“Middle school.”

“And they taught you how to use a sword?”

“Fencing. They taught me fencing.”

“That seems… dangerous. Letting a bunch of pre-teens swing swords around, I mean.”

“Maybe, if any of them had been half-way decent,” he retorted. “Most of them just fucking sucked. I kept with it though. Even after I graduated and came back to Fhirdiad for high school.”

Byleth tilted her head to the side, curious. “Why?”

He shrugged, pausing to watch a scene of Aragorn, Legolas, and Gimli in action.

“I liked it. But it’s not as easy as it seems,” he added. “There’s a bunch of rules and shit. It’s not like this.” He gestured towards the screen, just in time for Aragorn to lop off an orc’s head.

“But you kept up with it - even when you no longer had to do it for school.”

He nodded. “I _like_ it,” he repeated, as if this was clear as day. “You still run, don’t you? Even though you don’t have to do it for school anymore?”

He had her there. She’d started running because, well, Jeralt had made her do it, and because it had helped pay her way through college. She’d kept at it, though, because she enjoyed it. And now it was just a part of her, just something that she did. 

She was a runner.

Felix, as it turned out, was a swordsman.

In a strange sort of way, it made perfect sense. Felix _wouldn’t_ have normal habits like reading books or going for strolls in the park. Of course not. He was too intense, too focused; he constantly wanted to challenge himself, to be better than he was. 

That was probably why he liked running and working out - it was always a fight between your mind and your body, a struggle between which would give out first. Fencing, she assumed, was no different. 

“Maybe one day you can show me.” 

“Maybe.”

“You can teach me your technique.”

“You’d like that?” he asked, eyeing her speculatively.

“I’d love it,” she replied.

He flushed a bit, looking away from her. 

Unable to resist needling him a little further, she added, “And hey, in return, I can show you how to win a foot race.”

“Fuck off.”

She laughed at that - a true, full-bodied laugh that had her smiling from ear to ear. She just couldn’t help it, not when it was so easy to get a rise out of him. Something about the way he could flip from nonchalance to annoyance was just so terribly-

So terribly _cute._

“Why?”

Her mirth faded as Felix turned towards her with a more serious expression on his face. 

“Why what?” 

He huffed out a breath. “Why would you want _me_ to show you fencing? There are other teachers out there.”

It was a bit of a loaded question. The way Byleth saw it, she had two options here.

First, she could tell the truth. She could try to put into the words the feeling that she’d had for a couple of weeks now, that feeling that Felix wasn’t just some blind date, wasn’t just some guy she wanted to hook up with, wasn’t just _Angry Gym Guy_. Not a declaration of… of _intent,_ or anything as schmaltzy as that. But she could give him something real and honest about how she felt about him. 

She could tell him how she felt about _them,_ and this thing, this tension that lay between them.

Or she could lie. She could wave it off as a passing interest, say fencing was something she’d always wanted to try but had never found the opportunity to do so.

One look at Felix, and the way he was fidgeting with a loose thread on the couch, the way his eyes kept darting up to hers, not quite meeting her gaze before he looked down at the floor again, and her mind was made up. 

“Because I like you, Felix,” she replied. 

The admission was easier than expected; she’d expected saying that out loud might be accompanied with nerves, or a spike of anxiety at how Felix would react, how he’d respond. Instead, it just felt… right.

“I like you,” she repeated. “I like being around you. So... I want to know what kinds of things you like. I want to _try_ the things you like. Except for those hot wings,” she added. “I could happily live my entire life without ever trying those.”

He snorted at that. “Coward.”

She ignored what they both knew was a half-hearted jibe. “I think it would be fun. And I’d rather have you show me how to fence than someone random. It’d be more… personal.”

“And that’s - that’s what you’d want?”

It was the second time he'd asked, as if he hadn't quite believed her the first time.

She nodded, putting as much sincerity as possible into her expression.

His eyes rose to meet hers - and held her gaze. Yet again that night, Byleth scarcely dared to breathe, lest she break the moment. She didn’t think he was going to kiss her - he was too far away for that, and the energy wasn’t quite the same as it had been earlier. Still, there was something heavy in the air between them, and she couldn’t help but feel that this was an important moment, one she should take care to remember. 

“Fine.”

Felix turned back to the movie, grabbing his sweater and pulling it back over his head - as much to hide his burning face for a moment, Byleth thought, as because the temperature had gone back to normal. In doing so, he ended up moving a little closer to her, his arm brushing up against hers as he rearranged his collar, his knee knocking against hers.

She didn’t mind.

And if he didn’t move it away once he’d gotten resettled, well -

She didn’t mind that either.

The rest of the movie passed without incident, and before Byleth knew it, it was almost midnight and the end credits were rolling. She had to stifle a yawn as she got to her feet and turned off the television, returning the disc to its case. Best she did this now, before she went to bed - she’d never remember to, come morning.

Behind her, she heard Felix gathering up his things. 

“Don’t worry about the cake pan - I’ll wash it and give it back later,” she called back over her shoulder. “Do you want the extra wings?”

“You keep them,” he replied. 

“Are you sure?”

“The only ones left are mild,” he said, and she could hear rather than see the smirk on his face. “I wouldn’t eat them anyways.”

She snorted at that. Not without lighting them on fire first, anyways.

“Well, then - I guess I’ll see you later.”

“ _Return of the King_?”

“Unless you want to end on a cliffhanger,” she said, nodding.

He scowled. “I hate cliffhangers.”

Somehow, that didn’t surprise her.

Together, they walked to the door, Felix a step ahead of her. He wasn’t the type to say good-bye - and so he didn’t, giving her a curt nod before stepping out into the night. She waited until he got to his car before turning around and heading back inside and cleaning up the kitchen.

It was… strangely quiet, now that he was gone.

Well.

Perhaps not _strangely_ quiet. She wasn’t a loud person, and with just her and Sothis living in the apartment, the noise level tended to be pretty low unless she was watching a show or listening to a podcast. But it _was_ quiet, and not in the comforting, just-before-bed-and-all-are-asleep kind of way it normally was. This was a moodier silence. A heavier one - one she instinctively wanted to fill.

It hadn’t ever bothered her before. She was a solitary person by nature, and when you were something of a loner, you tended to get used to the silence.

But maybe up until now, she’d never realized just how nice it could be when it _wasn’t_ quiet. 

Something banged against her door, hard, and she jumped, startled. Sothis let out a bark of surprise, the hair on the scruff of her neck standing up.

Byleth frowned, wondering if she should be concerned. 

There was a muffled, “ _Fuck”_ a moment later, followed by a much softer knock, and she relaxed, hands relaxing around the dishrag she’d been clenching.

She recognized that voice. 

Felix.

But what was he still doing here? She chanced a glance back at the clock; it had been twenty minutes or so since he’d left. Had he forgotten something and driven back to get it?

Ridding herself of the towel, she padded over to the door, unlocking the bolt and swinging it open. 

Sure enough, Felix was bent over on the path, scowling down at his foot - and the garden gnome he’d accidentally kicked over. 

One of Claude’s, incidentally. He had a collection going.

“Felix?”

He straightened at the sound of her voice, moving so that he was standing at her door - and out of the way of any other potential trip-gnomes. 

“What is it?”

He didn’t respond. 

“Felix?”

It looked almost as if - as if he were steeling himself for something, hands balled into fists at his side, a determined set to his jaw. And his eyes-

Byleth swallowed thickly, the heat of his gaze making her flush. 

Why was he looking at her like that?

Why had he come back? 

Why was he stepping closer, tilting her head up, one hand reaching out to curve around her waist-

“I fucking like you, too,” he said.

And then, as if in answer to her unspoken questions, he closed the gap between them and pressed his lips to hers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> why yes, I did have there be no air conditioning in Faerghus just to have Felix take his shirt off, I have no regrets
> 
> Felix's tattoos are in American neo-traditional style, if you're curious! 
> 
> Thanks for reading! :)


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> head's up: this chapter is very NSFW! If you would like to skip that scene, please go to the line break between the first and second scenes - the second paragraph after the break has a mention of sex, but after that, the content is largely banter and introspection

Byleth inhaled sharply, her mouth falling open in surprise, and Felix pressed in closer, deepening the kiss as he pushed her back against the side of the door. 

His hands were everywhere - at her hips, dancing along her sides, fingertips trailing up her arms to curl around the back of her neck. It was if he couldn’t decide where he wanted to touch her most, and so he kept moving, his fingers never staying in one place for too long but leaving fire in their wake. 

And the things he was doing with his _mouth_ -

She groaned, her own hands coming up to frame his face, pulling him closer. She wanted to breathe him in, holding him in her lungs like cigarette smoke until she couldn't take it anymore and he burned her from the inside out. Already, she felt intoxicated, sheer desire making her weak at the knees. If Felix hadn’t been pressing her back against the wooden frame, she might have just slid down to the floor then and there - taking him with her, of course.

Now that she had him, she never wanted to let go. 

He seemed to share this sentiment, his hands settling on her hips like a vice, blunt nails digging into the skin. She would have bruises there tomorrow, dark smudges against her skin - not that she cared. Not one bit.

In fact, she planned to leave a few marks of her own. 

“Inside?” she murmured, nipping at Felix’s plush lower lip. 

He hummed in approval, pulling back just enough to let her drag the two of them into her apartment. He kicked the door shut behind them, and then pressed her up against the wall again, kissing her hard. 

“I meant-” she panted, in between kisses, “-the bedroom. Unless-” she broke off with a moan, “-you’d rather fuck me against the wall?”

Felix groaned, his lips slackening as he pulled back just enough to look down at her. His eyes had gone dark, pupils blown wide. 

“Bed first,” he said. “Wall later.”

His voice was heavy with meaning - and promise. Byleth had to suppress a shiver as she pushed him back, taking him by the hand and heading towards her bedroom. 

Felix didn’t behave - he kept stopping her, yanking her back against him to press kisses against the column of her throat, or pulling her to a stop and nipping at the nape of her neck. It was maddening, each touch driving her wild, and she shrugged him off only half-heartedly. But she was intent on the prize, and kept at it. 

Once they’d finally crossed the threshold of her room, she pounced. 

With a deft twist, she pulled out of his arms and pushed him back on the bed, crawling atop his thighs and straddling his hips. He glared up at her, as if she’d ruined his fun, but then she leaned in and licked a stripe up his neck to the corner of his jaw, and he went boneless beneath her, a noise she’d never heard him make before slipping from his lips. Half whine, half moan, it was perhaps the most beautiful sound she’d ever heard. 

She wanted to hear him make it again. 

Reaching down between them, she pulled on the hem of Felix’s sweater. Seizing on what she wanted, he sat up in one swift movement, yanking them apart for just a moment so he could finish pulling it over his head. Her tank top was next, joining his sweater in a pile on the floor. Then his hands were on her, exploring the skin he’d just exposed, squeezing, scratching, _teasing-_

But not quite where she wanted him, his fingertips staying _just_ shy of the curves of her breasts, just a hair higher than the top of her shorts. 

Byleth huffed, snatching one of his hands and bringing it to her breast, pressing forward into the space. His breath hitched, even as he traced the seam of her lips with his tongue, and she squirmed closer, snaking a hand around his neck to keep him in place. 

“There,” she groaned, his thumb swiping across her nipple. It wasn’t skin-to-skin contact, her sports bra a barrier yet between them, but _goddess,_ it was good, her spine going concave as she arched up into the touch. 

He paused, eyes drifting open to watching her reaction. 

Then he repeated the motion.

Byleth groaned, head falling back. “Harder,” she insisted.

He obliged, fingertips circling around the nipple several times before he twisted, pinching. She hissed, the sudden twinge sending a spike of heat through her core, but then he replaced his fingers with his lips, mouthing at her through the fabric, and she keened. 

“ _Felix_ -”

He twisted, taking her with him as he flipped their positions, pushing her down into the sheets and settling between her thighs, knees thumping against the floor. All the while, he kept laving her nipple with his tongue - an impressive feat, given how much she was squirming, desperate for more contact, her core clenching with want with every stroke. 

One of his hands came up to palm her rib cage, holding her in place. He paused his ministrations just long enough to huff, “Keep _still_ ,” before leaning in towards the other breast, biting at the sensitive underside. 

“Can’t,” she breathed, entirely unrepentant. 

That earned her a breathless laugh, and Felix pulled back, leaning his chin on the base of her sternum. “Enjoying this, are you?” He snuck a hand beneath the band of her bra, pushing it up over her breasts and off so he could resume tracing circles around her nipples.

“Mmmm,” she agreed, sighing into the touch. “I like you between my legs.”

His eyes flashed dangerously, the hand at her side twitching. “Is that so?”

She nodded, holding her chin high. 

Without warning, he pressed a hand between her thighs, right on the seam of her shorts. Byleth made a strangled noise, trying to push down at the sudden friction against her clit. But Felix kept her in place, lips curving up into a smirk at how desperately she fought against his hold. 

He crooked a finger, digging around the fabric and past her underwear. “Fuck, you’re wet,” he breathed, burying his face in her stomach. “You’re so-”

She twisted one of her arms, breaking free of his grip on her and snaking her hand down to yank on his hair. He moaned, eyes slipping shut for the briefest of moments before snapping open again. There was such pleasure there, such wanton lust, and directed at _her -_ it made her cunt throb, desperate for contact, and she bucked up her hips, reminding him where his hand was.

“Inside,” she told him again, moving one heel up to press into his lower back. “Please.”

Felix cursed, withdrawing his hand completely - but only so he could tug her shorts down entirely, taking her underwear with him and leaving her bare before him. Then his hand was back on her, one finger slipping between her folds and inside her core, his thumb reaching up to rub at her clit. 

Byleth threw her head back, trying and failing to keep quiet. She gave up entirely when he added a second finger, stretching her wide and filling her up, curling to hit a spot that made her toes curl. 

She was panting, breath hitching every so often when his fingers would plunge particularly deep, or when he leaned down and bit at her hip, sucking a dark bruise onto her skin. It was _good_ , better than she’d thought possible, better than all her fantasies - his hands were so good, so _fucking_ good, better than her own, and she was close, spiraling down, down, down into her pleasure, her core clenching tighter and tighter -

He pulled back and replaced his thumb with his mouth, lips sealing around her clit, and _sucked_.

Byleth couldn’t hide the raw, guttural sound that she made as she came - she didn’t even try. Nor did she try to hide the soft, gasping breaths she heaved as Felix continued to eat her out even after her orgasm. He was like a man starved, groaning at each twitch of her hands, at how wet she was, at each little buck of her hips. She could feel a second wave coming up on her, pleasure coursing through her veins like fire, and she tried to warn Felix with another yank on his ponytail. 

His eyes just flashed, and he buried his face deeper into her cunt, one hand pressing down on her belly, the other pushing up on her ass, changing the angle ever so slightly, and she was _falling-_

“Fuck!” she cried, eyes squeezing shut. “I can’t-”

Only then did Felix relent, easing up as she rode out the rest of the orgasm, trembling in its wake. Shaking - she was _shaking,_ and she’d rarely felt so sated, so completely and utterly _spent._

Felix bit down at the juncture of her thigh, and she groaned, finally opening her eyes. He was staring up at her, gaze half-lidded, his chin dripping wet. She flushed at the sight of it; he didn’t seem bothered though, reaching up with a lazy hand and wiping away the mess. 

“You’re good at that,” she admitted, finally releasing her hold on his hair. 

He snorted and nipped at her leg, pink staining his cheeks. 

She crooked her hand, urging him up to join her on the bed, and he stood, shucking off his leggings. It gave Byleth an unhindered view of the lower half of his body, exposing even more tattoos - and his still hard cock, straining against the fabric of his boxers. 

Byleth swallowed, want stabbing through her anew at the sight of it. Lifting a leg, she tapped her toes against his underwear. “Take these off,” she murmured. “And then come fuck me.”

He laughed again - that same breathless wheeze that seemed so very unlike him. “Insatiable,” he muttered, flopping down beside her. 

“Give me a break,” she retorted, turning onto her side to face him. “I’ve been thinking about it for weeks now.”

She didn’t miss the way his cock twitched, how he was hard and leaking an inch away from her thigh. 

“Is that so?”

She nodded, reaching out and taking a hold of him, thumbing at the liquid beading at the tip. His breath hitched, clearly affected, and he watched, rapt, as she brought it back to her mouth, licking it away. 

“I almost thought you weren’t interested.” 

He snorted, catching her hand as she made to reach for his cock again. “Stupid.”

He bent her arm back, pressing it back against the mattress, burying his face in the crook of her neck.

“Of course I was interested,” he murmured against her skin. 

A warmth that wasn’t entirely lust suffused her at this admission, and she smiled. She’d been told as much, her friends insisting that Felix was just cautious by nature, but still - it was good to have confirmation. Verbal, unequivocal confirmation. 

She nudged him with her shoulder, urging him to look at her. “Kiss me,” she said.

He met her lips eagerly, twisting so he was half atop her, pressing her down into the mattress again. It wasn’t as desperate, not quite as intense as before - but Byleth still felt the heat pooling in her stomach, desire rising to the surface for the third time that night, not quite as sated as she’d thought. She’d be so sore tomorrow, she mused, with bruises and love bites all over - but it would beworth it. 

_So_ worth it. No regrets. 

Felix deepened the kiss, his tongue licking into her mouth to taste her, and Byleth groaned, fingers scrabbling for purchase on his back. She could feel his tattoos, she thought, could feel the slightly raised lines of ink etched into his skin. She ran her hands over them, as much to map them as for the simple joy of touching him. 

He made a pleased noise, a hand coming up to frame her jaw. A gentle gesture - but she could feel the length of him still pressing insistently against her hip, and she groaned. Inside her - she wanted that _inside_ her, the way his fingers had been earlier, the way his _tongue_ had been. 

She forced him back, earning herself a rather disgruntled look, and twisted, reaching for the drawer on the nightstand. Her fingers quested around blindly, searching for the little foil packets she knew she had stashed in there somewhere. It wasn’t an easy task, not with Felix grabbing at each piece of her within reach - thumbing her nipples, pressing against the marks he’d already left, slipping his fingers through her folds.

“Stop that,” she said, smacking his hand away once when he got particularly frisky.

“Make me,” he retorted.

Not something she particularly wanted to do, if she was being honest. Her prior assessment stood - he was _very_ good with his hands. 

Luckily, she didn’t have to act on her bluff, her fingers landing on a condom a moment later. She turned back around and held it up, victorious. 

“How do you want me?” she asked. 

Felix inhaled sharply, hand tightening on her stomach. “How do I-” he repeated, choking on his words. “ _Byleth.”_

“Like this?” she asked, motioning to how they were. “Or should I get on my knees?” She didn’t care, quite honestly, as long as he fucked her all the way through another orgasm. On her stomach, on her back, up against a wall, over the kitchen counter - she could make anything work. 

“Get up,” he muttered, grabbing at her hip. 

She obeyed, following his directions as he turned her around and put her hands on the headboard. She waited, not quite patient, as he unwrapped the condom and pulled it on. And then he was there behind her, face buried into the back of her neck, the tip of his cock sliding between her thighs to press insistently at her core. 

“Fuck,” he mumbled, nose skimming against her skin as he twisted his face away, hands landing just outside hers in the bed frame. “ _Fuck.”_

Byleth sank back onto him, groaning as her cunt stretched around his cock. She didn’t stop until he was fully seated, their bodies flush together - only then did she lean forward, letting his cock almost slide out of her before slamming backwards again. 

He caught on to the idea soon enough, meeting each of her backwards motions by jerking his hips forward, driving deep, _deep_ within her. Each time, it sent a jolt of pleasure straight up her spine; her nerves were tingling, _thrumming,_ and though she knew neither of them were going to last much longer tonight, she was already anticipating when they could do it again. 

And where.

And how.

Abruptly, Felix grabbed her hips and pushed in to the hilt, holding her tight for a second before repeating the motion. 

“Are you close?” he breathed, lips at her ear.

She nodded, speech not quite possible.

“Touch yourself, then,” he said. “Get yourself off.”

She didn’t need to be told twice, fingers slipping between her thighs and rubbing insistently at her clit. It wouldn’t take much now - not when she’d already come twice, so close to overstimulation. 

Over her shoulder, Felix watched, a string of obscenities leaving his mouth as he watched her pleasure herself. His movements grew jerky, less cadenced, his breathing labored as he fucked into her. “Felix,” she whined, her other hand reaching back to twine into his hair. “ _Felix-”_

“ _Shit-”_ He bit down at the curve of her neck, hips stuttering as he came, and Byleth keened, working hard to find her own finish. She was already so close, almost _there_ -

She came with a sob, the orgasm crashing over her, and the both of them fell backwards in a tangled heap of limbs, working hard to regain their breath. It was a long way to come down, she thought, three orgasms a peak she'd _never_ reached - neither alone nor with a partner. But then again, she reasoned, Felix wasn't just any partner.

She turned to face him, grinning. She was sticky, and sweaty, and the both of them probably smelled like ass - but as Felix drew her in close, sticking his face into her hair, she didn’t think she could _possibly_ care less. 

“That was-” She waved a hand, unable to articulate.

“Yeah,” Felix agreed. “It was.” 

His voice was laced with sleep, and when she pulled back to get a good glimpse of his face, his eyes were only half-open, already slipping away into sleep.

“Are you staying?” she asked. 

A risky question for a man who'd bolted from her apartment earlier that night at the mere thought of kissing her. 

But things had changed since then. Things had been said, admissions had been made. 

She felt the risk worth the potential reward.

His eyes snapped open at that, a little guarded. “Do you want me to?” he asked.

Her answer was immediate, no thought required.

“Yes.”

He blinked once - long and slow, eyelashes kissing the skin beneath his eyes. Then he nodded, as if that settled things, and leaned in, curling up around her body like a cat. Something warm sparked in Byleth at such a simple, easy acceptance - even as she pushed him away, telling him to at least take the condom off before he fell asleep. He grumbled, but did as she asked, padding over to the bathroom. 

He returned a moment later, a glass of water in his hands. He handed it over to Byleth, who greedily sucked the rest of it down. 

“Hey.”

“Mmm?”

“Your dog is staring at us.”

She pushed herself up on an elbow, looking towards the door. Sure enough, Sothis was standing there, ears tucked back, looking between the two of them with an uncertain look in her eyes. 

Byleth snorted, pulling back the covers and slipping beneath the blankets. “Judging us, you mean.”

“Judging us?”

“Well, you bit me, and you _fucked_ me-”

He groaned. 

“But I clearly liked it - so she’s probably confused, wondering whether she needs to protect or chastise me.”

“She’s a _dog.”_

“A dog who _passes judgment-”_

“Whatever-”

Sothis barked, taking a few menacing steps towards Felix before heading over to her doggie bed. Even then, she shot him a look that said she was _watching_ him.

Byleth eyed Felix sagely. “See? She’s taken your measure and found you wanting-”

He huffed out a breath, scowling. “Now who’s being ridiculous?” He slide into the bed beside her and ducked beneath the covers, yanking her underneath to join him.

“You little-”

His arms slid around her, pulling her in close to press another kiss to her lips, ending any arguments she might have made. Byleth heavily considered retaliation - but after weighing the pro's and con's, she relented, going pliant with a happy little hum and accepting defeat. 

Not _everything_ had to be a win, after all.

* * *

Felix left the next morning.

He’d woken early, despite it being a Saturday, slipping out for a quick smoke while Byleth languished in bed, mourning the loss of a few extra hours sleep. But then he’d come back and fucked her again - with his fingers, and then in the more traditional way - and she found she didn’t mind _that_ much. He’d had her on her elbows and knees this time, her nipples dragging against the bed with each thrust of his hips. The dual stimulation had almost been too much, and she’d come hard, his name on her lips.

She’d tried to keep quiet, she really had.

She still had a feeling she’d be getting a noise complaint.

He’d finally slipped out around ten, after she’d made them both a cup of coffee. She’d walked him to his car, and they’d scheduled time for their final movie night - two weeks from now, as Felix already had plans again in a week. His father, he’d said, with that particular scrunch of his nose that she was beginning to recognize as reserved only for familial obligations.

He’d not kissed her good-bye, or promised to call her later. She hadn’t expected him to, to be honest. He didn’t seem the type.

Still, she found herself smiling as she traipsed back to her apartment, happier than she could remember being in... well. A very long time. Add to that the long, _long_ bath she planned to take and finishing up her weekly grading earlier than usual, and this might just be one of the best weekends she'd had in, well, ever.

Sadly, her peace was short-lived.

She returned to her apartment to find the door standing wide open, and if she wasn’t mistaken, someone was cooking something in her kitchen.

“Claude,” she sighed, slipping inside and shutting the door. “You can’t just barge in here like this-”

She found her friend standing before the stove, two separate frying pans going in front of him. He turned to shoot her an offended look as she made her way into the kitchen. “Me? Barge in? Teach, you say that like I would ever do such a thing-”

“How did you get in, anyways? I swear I shut the door behind me.”

He grinned, pulling a bobby pin out of his bangs and holding it up. “Oldest trick in the book.”

She rolled her eyes, sinking down onto a barstool. 

“Besides, Teach, I’m just trying to help out!” He gestured to the pans, showing her the eggs and bacon he had cooking. Her traitorous stomach growled, and he winked. “See? You’re famished after all that extracurricular activity last night. Gotta keep your strength up. Here.” 

He grabbed for a plate, sliding a couple of eggs out of one pan and grabbing a few slices of bacon out of the other. He added a dash of salt and pepper, slapped on a piece of buttered toast, and set it down in front of her. 

“Have at it.”

Byleth begrudgingly picked up the toast, taking a bite. It was delicious, just the sort of carbohydrate- and protein-laden goodness she craved on a late morning, and Claude was grinning at her with a knowing glint in his eye.

She huffed, not planning to let him get away with this so easily. His cooking skills didn’t quite make up for his penchant for breaking and entering.

“Sooooooo,” he said, making up a second plate, turning off the burners, and slipping into the seat across from her. “How’d it go?”

Her eyes flashed. “How’d _what_ go?” she asked.

“Oh, don’t be coy. Lysithea saw him shoving his tongue down your throat last night.”

Drat it all.

How she gotten such _nosy_ neighbors?

“...Felix is fine.”

“Yeah? And how is he in bed?”

Byleth nearly choked on a bite of egg. “Are you kidding me-” she spluttered, reaching for a napkin.

“And don't bother trying to deny that’s what you were doing, either. I think the whole building heard you.”

“I wasn’t-”

Claude reached out, poking one of the many bruises littering her neck. 

Byleth hissed at the twinge of pain. 

“Fun times, huh.”

She ignored him in favor of stuffing an entire piece of bacon in her mouth. Not her best look, to be sure, but then this was Claude at his most insistent, and any diversionary tactics she could employ, she’d use. 

“Hey.”

She looked up, tense, wondering what he could possibly ask _now-_

“He was good to you, yeah?”

Byleth blinked. 

“He didn’t… do anything weird, anything you didn’t want him to?”

She swallowed, her irritation fading as she saw what Claude was getting at. “No,” she said, quiet. “He was good to me.” 

“Good,” he said, nodding. He took a bite of toast, chewing thoughtfully. “I mean, I didn’t get that kind of vibe from him. But if he _was_ a total dick - I mean, I’d’ve had to murder him, and I’m not opposed to the idea, but between Lysithea and Hilda, I’m kind of running out of places to bury the bodies, if you know what I mean-”

She chuckled, shaking her head fondly. “I know what you mean.”

“So, you seeing him again?”

“In a couple weeks," she replied, nodding.

Claude waved a hand. “Nah, it’ll be sooner than that.” Byleth lifted an eyebrow, and he added, “I’ve seen the way he looks at you, Teach. If he can stay away for three days, I’ll be surprised.”

She hesitated, not wanting to sound too eager - like some kid in high school, acting on their very first crush. This wasn’t the first time she’d dealt with this sort of thing. But then, because what could it hurt to ask, really, and she just had to know-

“How does he look at me?”

“Like you’re a revelation.”

Byleth felt her cheeks go hot; she’d been expecting something pithy from Claude, something witticism uttered with a wink and a pointed glance. Not something so poetic, delivered in such a sincere, flat voice. 

“You don’t think so?”

“I had a hard time even telling whether or not he _liked_ me until last night,” she admitted. 

“Teach.”

“What?” She couldn’t quite keep the defensive note out of her voice. “It’s not so easy for some of us.”

“Well, then, allow me to elaborate.” Claude leaned forward, tilting his head towards her as if he were letting her in on some great secret. “This guy-”

“Felix.”

“Felix. He’s pretty quiet. Doesn’t say a whole lot. So you have to look at the non-verbal stuff - body language, facial expressions, eye movements. I can’t say I’ve ever gotten close enough to really study his face - much to my dismay - but I _have_ seen the way he acts around you.”

“And?”

“ _And_ he always centers himself around you.”

Byleth blinked. He did? She thought back to all the times they’d been together, trying to remember how Felix had been behaving. 

“He orients himself _towards_ you, stands right next to you. Full frontal, most of the time, not a sideways view.” Claude ducked his head once, taking a sip of a cup of coffee she didn’t realize he’d brewed. “People don’t do that unless they like you.”

She considered. Come to think of it, he might have a point. Felix generally did gravitate towards her when they were together - and she to him. She’d assumed it was because they were generally the only two people in the room. But if they’d disliked each other, or if they hadn't had any chemistry, maybe they’d have found ways to distance themselves.

“Exactly,” Claude said, when she tested this hypothesis against him. “You like someone, you move with them. You dislike someone, you move against them.”

“...is that why you’re always leaning away from Lorenz?” she asked, thinking of how Claude couldn’t seem to stand being next to the chatty city council rep who lived above them.

“Well, that and he practically bathes in Axe.” Claude shuddered for effect. “The _horror_ \- it’s the seventh grade locker room all over again.”

She snorted at that. Thankfully, Felix didn’t smell like excessively scented body wash. Instead, he smelled… clean. Crisp. A little woodsy, like juniper or cedar. And smoke, of course, with a little hint of spice. 

It was very nice. 

“You’re thinking about him, aren’t you?” 

She looked up to see Claude beaming at her over his mug. “Why do you say that?”

He chuckled. “Ah, to be young and in love.”

She shot Claude an annoyed look, knowing he'd picked that particular phrasing on purpose - and damn him if it wasn't affecting her, her pulse thundering in her veins in response. 

“Claude.”

“I know, I know - and it’s just a phrase, nothing more. But you don’t smile like that very often, Teach. Trust me.”

She’d been smiling? 

Huh.

She hadn’t noticed.

“Okay, it wasn’t quite a smile. It was more of a… of a… well, it was a thing. We can decide what to call it later. But it was there, Teach - _something_ was there.”

Something was there alright - something good. Something warm and happy and suspiciously bright, bubbling up in her chest every time she saw Felix or talked to him on the phone. She wouldn’t call it _love_ or anything like that, regardless of what Claude said - not yet. But she wouldn’t deny that it was there. She couldn’t, because she could feel it. 

And, apparently, because Claude could see it on her face. 

He could _see_ it. On _her_ face.

Stone cold, always-got-her-game-face-on Byleth Eisner - emoting and shit. Who’d have believed it? 

Well, Claude von Riegan for one. 

Granted, he both knew her very well and was a good hand at reading body language. So if anyone _could_ discern such a difference in her, it’d be him. 

Still. 

This felt like a milestone.

“So," he said, clearing his throat. "What do you say I do the dishes and you tell me all the salacious details of you and Angry Gym Guy’s first night together?”

Byleth snorted into her eggs. 

“No.”

“Aw, come on - throw me a bone here!”

She smiled again, not bothering to hide it this time. 

“Not on your life, Riegan.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! :) I tried to get this one out quickly, given how last chapter ended lmao
> 
> Hope it was worth the wait!


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the delay AGAIN - I'm in the final stages of moving across the country and my life is literally in boxes right now lmao

“No!”

“Yes.”

“Yes?”

“No!”

Shamir’s eyes narrowed, flicking between Catherine and Byleth suspiciously. “Alright, someone tell me what’s going on. I’m confused.”

“Byleth nailed Angry Gym Guy!”

Across the table, Seteth winced. “Must you be so crude, Catherine?”

The blonde rolled her eyes. “Oh, you’re no fun,” she retorted. “Let me try that again - Byleth made sweet, sweet love to her gym crush last Friday. And now they’re gonna get married and have _babies_ -”

Byleth kicked her underneath the table, sending Catherine into a fit of giggles.

“What, am I wrong?”

“I’m not interested in babies - not in the slightest,” Byleth said flatly. 

“Not even Angry Gym Guy’s spawn? Aw, think of how cute they’d be - your hair, his _glare._ ”

Byleth had to admit it wasn’t a _totally_ unpleasant picture; Felix was attractive. It made sense that any potential offspring he might have would also be attractive. But the thought of the other half of that kid’s genetic code coming from her?

Nope.

No thanks. Hard pass. 

Those were the sort of thoughts that would have her and Felix both noping out of this… this _thing_ they had going on faster than either of them could say _chromosome._

“He fucked me, Cat,” she huffed, taking a sip of her beer. “He didn’t up and make an honest woman out of me.”

“Good gracious me,” Seteth muttered, reaching for his wine.

“Dude, you have _got_ to get over that if you want to keep coming to Wine Night.”

He shot her a peevish look. “Byleth isn’t drinking wine.”

“True,” Byleth replied, reaching for her glass so she could chug the last few inches of beer. “But the night is young.” 

She stood, leaving her friends to bicker as she made her way over to the bar for another drink. Their voices carried, and she had to suppress a smirk as Seteth defended himself against the tag-team duo of Catherine and Shamir - an unenviable position. They were quite the pair.

But, truth be told, these nights wouldn’t be the same with Seteth. He was the chaperone to their terrible drinking games, the lawful neutral to their chaotic energy, the voice of reason that spoke in their heads when they were contemplating all sorts of nefarious shenanigans - which of course meant he was also the one who made sure they all got home safely when they were all too inebriated to drive themselves.

Not the hero they deserved. 

But the hero they needed.

...wasn’t that how that line went? Or something?

Accepting her new drink with a murmured thanks to the bartender, she stashed a couple of bucks in the tip jar and headed back to the table. Seteth had his arms crossed over his chest, glaring daggers at Catherine - who looked quite pleased with herself, one finger circling the rim of her beer glass.

Shamir just looked slightly less bored than she had when Byleth had left.

She perked up when Byleth sat back down, lifting an eyebrow at her. “So tell me,” she said. “How was it?”

Byleth’s eyes flicked to Seteth, waiting for him to protest.

“No, no,” he said, holding up a hand. “It has been made _very_ clear to me that this is to be the main topic of conversation tonight. So, please - do go on. I accept defeat.”

Catherine reached out to pat his hand. “That’s _very_ big of you, Seteth.”

He snatched it back. “Don’t patronize me, Catherine.”

“Ignore them,” Shamir said, and Byleth turned back to face her. “They’re children.”

Catherine squawked indignantly; Seteth merely sniffed and took a haughty sip of his wine.

“How was he? Angry Gym Guy.”

“It was… good.”

It was, perhaps, the _best_ sex she’d ever had in her life. Mind-blowingly, toe-curling, fucking _fantastic_ sex, the kind you had not once in a year, but once in a _lifetime,_ and if she was _lucky,_ she’d get to have some again next Friday when Felix came back over to her apartment.

She’d already spent several quality sessions with her hands just _thinking_ of what Felix had done to her last weekend, and she didn’t think she’d ever get the mental image of his naked body out of her brain.

Not that she’d want to.

Ever.

So, yeah. It was good.

“That’s not what I heard,” Catherine said, grinning.

Byleth frowned. “What do you mean?”

“Well,” she drawled, leaning back in her chair. “Dorothea told me that Sylvain told her that your next door neighbor told him that he could barely _sleep_ that night because you two were making so much noise.” 

Byleth had to work through that one for a minute. “Wait,” she said, after she’d processed everything. “Sylvain knows Claude?”

“They met at one of those painting classes where you mostly just get shit-faced on cheap drinks,” Shamir supplied. 

“Or so he said,” Catherine added. “Who knows, with those two?”

She’d known that Catherine and Shamir knew Claude - he’d popped over one night, uninvited, when they’d been binge-watching old seasons of Fodlan’s Got Talent, and after proving that he really did make a killer mojito, Shamir and Catherine had deemed him worthy enough to stay. He’d bunked down for the rest of the night, screaming along with them as they watched Manuela Casagrande snatch the competition right from out from under her last two competitors. 

The rest had been history.

But Claude and _Sylvain_?

The odds were clearly not in her favor. Individually, those two were trouble. _Together_ \- well, for starters, they were discussing her and Felix’s sex life. That was problematic enough.

Who knew what else they’d get up, if no one stopped them?

“I always thought you’d be loud in bed,” Shamir mused.

Byleth choked on her drink. “What?”

“You’re normally so quiet,” Shamir explained. Her lips curled into a smirk. “And everyone knows it’s the quiet ones who really like to get freaky.”

“We didn’t… get freaky,” Byleth grit out, Catherine guffawing in the background. “It was all… normal. Very normal. Vanilla, even.”

“How many times did you come?”

“Goddess above,” Seteth said, pinching the bridge of his nose. 

“Three,” Byleth replied.

“Hey, not bad!” Catherine said, grinning. “A good effort from our Angry Gym Guy! I mean, my personal record is five, but hey! This isn’t a competition or anything-”

“Catherine, do shut up.”

“He’s got a point, Cat - three is perfectly respectable,” Shamir offered. “Besides, that time with five? You didn’t walk the entire next day.”

Catherine shrugged. “Didn’t really want to. Too much chafing.”

Seteth rubbed at his forehead, eyeing his glass of wine. “I think I’m going to need something stronger than Chardonnay,” he murmured.

“So, when are you seeing him again?”

That, Byleth didn’t know.

There wasn’t really a schedule.

True to Claude’s prediction, Felix hadn’t managed to keep away for more than a couple of days. He’d showed up at her apartment Monday night, tacos and beer in hand, and stayed until she’d kicked him out at eleven. Tuesday, she’d seen him at the gym. He’d made eyes at her across the room the entire time he’d been lifting weights, to the point that she’d half-considered dragging him off the equipment and into one of the locker room showers for a quickie.

She’d ultimately decided against it. Mostly because she hadn’t brought any shower shoes with her, and who knew what was living on the locker room floors?

Thursday, she’d been prepared, having an entire array of podcasts to distract her as she ran. 

It hadn’t worked. 

Her eyes had been glued to Felix’s ass the entire time. She would bet good money he’d picked the treadmill directly in front of her just for that. 

But all of these had been happenstance - they hadn’t _planned_ to meet up. They’d just sort of… ran into each other. Or, in Felix’s case, he’d just wanted to see her and had happened to be in the general vicinity of her apartment complex.

With tacos.

Who could say no to tacos?

“He’s coming over next week for another movie night,” she said finally.

Catherine wiggled her eyebrows. “Movie night, huh? Is that what we’re calling it now?”

Byleth rolled her eyes, even as Catherine turned to Shamir.

“Hey, babe, wanna go _Netflix and chill_?” 

Shamir elbowed Catherine, shooting her an annoyed look. “Quit beating a dead horse,” she snapped. “That joke is old.”

“Aw, I thought it was a good one!”

Shamir ignored her, turning back to Byleth. “Then you two are dating now?”

“I…”

“...you don’t know.” 

It wasn’t a question - rather an assessment of fact, delivered in Shamir’s most no-nonsense tone of voice.

Byleth shrank down a little lower in her chair. “We haven’t really discussed it.”

Shamir shot her a withering look. “You haven’t.”

“Not exactly?” Figuring she wasn’t getting out of this one anytime soon, she sighed and settled in. “He told me he likes me, after I told him the same. And then we - well, you know.”

“He spent the night?”

“Yes.”

“What else did you all talk about?”

“Um,” Byleth said, thinking. “Nothing?”

“Nothing,” Shamir repeated.

“He said something about Sothis being weird.”

“That isn’t what I meant."

“Then no. We, ah - we just kind of fell asleep after that.”

Shamir stared at her for a long minute. Then, abruptly, she downed the rest of her drink and made a beeline for the bar, dragging Catherine in her wake.

Byleth turned to Seteth, blinking rather owlishly. “Did I say something?”

Seteth sighed. “I can’t presume to ever know precisely what Shamir is thinking,” he said. “But if I had to hazard a guess, I would say it’s not flattering.”

She sighed. It never was, with Shamir. 

“Tell me, Byleth, this man, this - Angry Gym Guy. You like him, yes?”

“...yes.”

“And he makes you happy?”

She thought about that for a moment. “In his own way,” she said slowly. “He’s not… he’s not really like anyone I’ve ever been with before.”

 _That_ was an understatement. Felix was one of a kind, a true original.

“But he makes me laugh,” she continued, “even when he’s not really trying to. He likes a lot of the same things I do. And he cares - I think. Though he’d never say that. So… yeah, I suppose he does make me happy.”

It wasn’t terribly convincing, her arguments sounding silly now that she’d spoken them aloud. But Seteth was looking at her with a strange smile on his face, one hand cradling his chin. 

“What?” she asked, automatically on the defensive.

“Nothing,” he said, shaking his head. “I am just happy for you. That is all.”

“...happy.”

“Is it so strange, for me to want to see you happy?” He waved a hand at Catherine and Shamir, finishing up the bar. “Catherine and Shamir, though they are very different people, make each other happy. Mercedes and Annette are perfect complements of each other. Even Dorothea and Sylvain have begun to find happiness together. I wish the same for you, Byleth.”

She shifted in her seat, a little unused to such openness. It wasn’t unexpected; some gentle ribbing and congratulations were the main point of this whole night, after all. But she’d grown up with Jeralt’s gruff sort of affection and very few friends. Even now, several years after she’d met all of these people, she was still consistently humbled by their obvious love for her. 

She ducked her head, taking another gulp of her wine, and Seteth’s smile deepened.

“Okay.”

Shamir had returned, a glass of merlot in each hand, Catherine hot on her heels.

“I’ve come to a decision.”

“You-” Catherine said, pointing at Byleth, “-need to man up.”

“Woman up.”

“Pull yourself up by your tit straps!”

Shamir rolled her eyes. “Don’t listen to her. She insisted on Jager Bombs at the bar - it went straight to her head.”

Catherine pouted, throwing an arm over Shamir’s shoulders. “I _did,_ only you didn’t drink yours.”

“I didn’t drink it because Jager tastes like college-aged despair.” She turned back to Byleth, shrugging Catherine’s arm off and taking a seat. “So, you. You need to tell this guy what’s up.”

Catherine dropped down beside her. “You do.”

“For once, I find myself in agreement with them,” Seteth added. 

“You don’t have to ambush him,” Shamir continued. “And it doesn’t need to be some big deal. Just sit him down; tell him what’s up. Tell him you like him, and unless he has objections, the two of you are dating.”

"If he does have objections - discuss."

“And then jump his bones,” Catherine added.

"Yes - wait, what?" Seteth asked, perplexed.

“Climb him like a goddamn tree.”

“Maybe wait for that until the both of you are on the same page,” Seteth hastily interjected. "You'll have plenty of time for that later."

“Yeah, get the talking out of the way first,” Shamir advised. “Then fun stuff.”

They said it like it was so easy. Byleth wasn’t so certain it was.

...but then again, maybe she was making a mountain out of a molehill here. She and Felix were blunt, to-the-point people. The both of them preferred the straightforward approach; they didn’t beat around the bush, they didn’t sugarcoat things. So she didn’t need to give him some flowery speech or recite a clever bit of poetry in order to lay out her intentions. If she just kept it simple, laid out the facts, and waited for a response -

Maybe things would just… work out?

That’s what had happened when she’d told him that she liked him, after all, and the results had been, well - great.

And, really, did this sort of conversation _ever_ go quite as smoothly as people planned? It was always a little awkward, a little hesitant - or so the barrage of rom-coms Dorothea had made her watch over the years had suggested. She didn’t have to sweep Felix off his feet.

She just had to let him know that, for her, this was serious. And then figure out if he felt the same.

When she put it that way, it didn’t seem like such an ordeal after all.

“Okay.”

Her friends stared at her, seemingly startled by her quiet assent.

“Okay?” Shamir repeated. 

“What does that even mean?” Catherine asked.

“I mean, okay, I’ll talk to him,” Byleth continued, pushing her hair behind her ears. “We’ll… discuss things.”

“Not things,” Seteth corrected. “Your relationship.”

“That too.”

Shamir eyed for a minute longer before breaking out into a rare smile. “Good. Glad to hear it.”

“And you’ll let us know how it goes?” Catherine demanded, leaning over the table. “First thing?”

“I promise you’ll be the first to know,” Byleth replied. 

“Hah! We better be.” Catherine leaned back, crossing her arms over her chest. “You tell Claude before us, you’re _dead._ ”

“I don’t _tell_ Claude things - he just… figures them out.”

“He is a sneaky son of a bitch,” Shamir agreed. 

“He knows things,” Catherine allowed. 

“Tell me, why have I never had the pleasure of meeting this individual?” Seteth asked then, frowning. “He sounds like a very charming young man.”

“Oh, no,” Shamir said, shaking her head. “You and Claude would not get along.”

“He’d eat you alive,” Catherine added.

Seteth gave an indignant response, and things escalated from there. 

Byleth elected to stay out of this one, grabbing for her phone instead. There was one message from Felix, the timestamp nearly an hour ago. 

**< Felix > **Old man’s running late

 **< Felix > **Fuck this dinner

 **< Felix >** I have better things to be doing

She smiled, sliding her phone back into her pocket after shooting him a quick _Hope it goes okay_. It was a sentiment she shared; she could imagine many things she’d rather be doing right now _._ Most of them involved Felix contorting her into a pretzel. But duty called, and she’d also made plans. She would wait, patiently, until they could see each other again.

And… talk.

Much as she hated to admit it, her friends were right. She and Felix had been dancing around each other for weeks now, the chemistry between them palpable. Now that they’d up and _done_ something about it, well - words needed to follow. Nothing complicated, nothing too schmaltzy, but some acknowledgment of what was happening here would be good.

It’d be nice, even.

Her phone buzzed again, and she took another peek.

 **< Felix > **Fucker finally showed up. I’ll text you later.

An opening - opportunity had literally just fallen into her lap. Felix could tell her about his - hopefully not too disastrous - dinner, and she could bring up what she’d talked about at _her_ … happy hour. 

She thought she was almost looking forward to it. 

Almost.

If not for the way her stomach felt like it was about to drop out the other side of her colon at the mere _idea_ of trying to figure out what she wanted to say. But, yeah - besides that, it was pretty cool. Exciting. 

She hadn’t thought she and Felix would ever get here, to be quite honest. She’d thought it would end after that very first disastrous meeting atop the car garage downtown. Even after he’d started texting her and challenged her to a footrace, she’d kept expecting him to leave. He’d just stop texting her one day, and that would be it - she’d never hear from him again. Instead, he’d kept talking, and she’d kept inviting him over, and, well, shit, now they were pretty much dating and she was looking to make things official.

It was funny how things worked out sometimes, wasn't it?

* * *

 **< Felix > **Are you up?

Byleth rolled over in her bed, grabbing for her phone. Felix’s message was another iteration of a text she’d been itching to send all day. The first, a bleak _We need to talk_ , she’d written at nine o’clock that morning while digging into a bowl of oatmeal. She’d quickly decided that that was a bit too much honesty that early in the morning; she’d erased the message before she could send it and refused to look at her phone for a solid hour.

At noon, she’d opted for a friendlier _Got a minute?_ Only then, Raphael had called her in a tizzy about a last minute shift he’d had to take at work, wanting to know if she could babysit his sister, and she’d gotten too distracted for a serious conversation. She’d deleted the message with a sigh and pocketed her phone for the rest of the afternoon.

Now, here she was, too restless to sleep, too tired to get up out of her bed and actually do something, and Felix had beaten her to the punch. It was just as well - when they’d last spoken, he’d told her he’d text her later. But she’d checked her phone again after Seteth had dropped her off at her apartment, truthfully quite drunk, and she hadn’t seen any new notifications. 

She hadn’t been terribly surprised at the lack of new messages - Felix’s father always put him in a mood, and not one where he was inclined to _chat._

**< Byleth > **Yes, why?

 **< Felix > **Can’t sleep

 **< Byleth > **Something on your mind?

 **< Felix >** Yes. You.

The admission pleased her, and she curled up into a ball, bringing the phone a little closer to her face, feeling warm all over.

 **< Byleth > **I hope that’s a good thing 

**< Felix > **My father asked about you

Oh. 

Oh, fuck. 

That was about the farthest from a good thing she could imagine.

 **< Byleth > **I didn’t even know he knew about me

In response, he sent her a picture of his neck - and the large bruise she’d sucked into his flesh a couple of nights ago during a rather fantastic make-out session. It had turned out quite colorful, purple and red edging into yellows and browns, the faintest imprint of her teeth just barely visible. 

Byleth winced. 

**< Byleth > **Ah, sorry 

**< Felix > **I should’ve worn my fucking hair down

 **< Felix > **But I was running late, and there was traffic, and I just

 **< Felix > **Fucking forgot

 **< Byleth > **What did he say? Your father, I mean

 **< Felix > **Old fart asked when the wedding was

Byleth smacked a hand over her face.

 _Double fuck_.

 **< Byleth >** …please tell me you didn’t have a butter knife in your hand

 **< Felix >** Not a knife

 **< Felix >** But I broke a water glass

 **< Felix >** Got bits of it in the fucking salad

Despite herself, Byleth smiled. 

**< Felix > **Then he asked if I had a picture of you

Oh, goddess. 

She could understand now why Felix hadn’t texted her. He hadn’t been ignoring her, and he hadn’t forgotten her. He’d just been literally incapable of putting together a coherent thought after his father’s grilling. She could see him now, near catatonic on his couch, trying to decompress from the encounter.

Poor guy.

 **< Byleth > **Do you? Have a picture of me? 

**< Felix >** No

 **< Byleth > **Your father must have been so disappointed

 **< Felix >** It gets better 

**< Felix >** Then he asked if we were using protection or if he should expect a fucking grandbaby 

Byleth let out a low whistle - the _balls_ of this man she’d never met. Asking Felix that, while entirely sincere, and while _in public_ , took guts. 

She almost wanted to meet him. 

**< Byleth > **I’m sorry

 **< Byleth > **I’m so sorry

 **< Byleth > **If it’s any consolation, my friends also figured it out this week 

**< Byleth > **I too should have worn my hair down

Catherine had given her such _shit._ The catalyst for their Wine Night, she’d taken one look at Byleth’s neck the morning after Taco Night before letting out a laugh that had scared a group of freshmen so badly they’d apparently skipped gym class.

“You look like you got mauled by a fucking animal,” she’d crowed, once Byleth had dragged her into the break room. 

“Or a vampire,” Shamir had suggested, inspecting the bruises.

Of course, Sylvain had then taken it upon himself to enter the conversation, a cup of coffee in his hands. “Nah, Felix may look like a vampire, sure, but I can personally confirm he’s not,” he’d said, inspecting one of the bruises. “Eats way too much garlic for that. But he’s got a bit of an oral fixation, huh? Somehow, it fits.” 

Dorothea, once again, had been Byleth’s saving grace. She’d waved the rest of them away before dragging Byleth off to the bathroom, a tube of concealer in her hands. 

“Don’t listen to them,” she’d said, dabbing make-up on Byleth’s skin and expertly blending it in. “It’s not that noticeable.”

The seventeen students who’d brought up the “marker” on her neck suggested otherwise, but Byleth thought it an honorable attempt.

 **< Felix > **What did you tell them?

 **< Byleth >** Well, um

 **< Byleth > **They already knew about you as a person 

**< Byleth > **Or they knew about Angry Gym Guy

 **< Felix> **Does everyone fucking call me that?

 **< Byleth > **Sorry

 **< Byleth > **But yes

She could practically feel Felix rolling his eyes through the phone.

 **< Felix > **But what did you tell them? 

**< Byleth > **Well, the truth

There. It was a start; she’d taken the initiative. 

His answer was longer in coming than she’d expected.

 **< Felix > ...**the truth

 **< Byleth > **That we’re dating

 **< Byleth **> That is what’s happening here, right?

That wasn’t _exactly_ how it had gone down last night; more like, Shamir and Catherine had told her that she and Felix were dating, and then demanded to know why _they_ didn’t know this yet. But that had been the group’s final conclusion, and Byleth had more or less come to terms with it over the past twenty-four hours. 

This whole thing had started with a blind date.

They’d then met up three times. And then had copious amounts of sex.

So they were dating.

...right?

Felix was even slower to answer this second time.

Byleth lay there for long minutes, wondering if perhaps she’d pushed too hard. The bubbles underneath their messages started and stopped, and started and stopped again. Felix was working hard to come up with an answer. 

Too jittery to just sit there and wait, she stood, padding into the bathroom and washing her face. The cool water was a shock to her system, and she scrubbed at her face vigorously. Afterwards, she smoothed on a dollop of moisturizer, and took a few extra minutes with the rest of her nightly routine. It was for time more than anything, taking up space. But it brought her some much needed clarity, re-centered her mind, and when she returned to her bed, nestling back underneath the blankets, she was able to pick her phone without feeling like she needed to go and run a five-K to cool her jets.

A good thing too, because Felix had finally sent her a reply.

 **< Felix > **Okay

She blinked, staring at her phone for so long the screen went dark on her and she had to re-open her messages. That was… that was it? It wasn’t an outright rejection, sure, but she’d been hoping for something a little more enthusiastic. 

Goddess, “okay” wasn’t even really an answer. It was just -

Okay.

 **< Byleth > **What does that mean?

Instead of sending her a reply, Felix called her. Surprised, Byleth picked up without even remembering to say hello.

“It means,” Felix huffed, sounding flustered more than truly annoyed, “Fine.”

“Fine,” she repeated.

“Yes, fine, whatever, sure. Okay.” 

“I… I was hoping for a little more than ‘fine’, Felix.” 

He muttered something under his breath, too low for her to hear.

“What was that?”

“I _said_ \- yes, that’s what’s happening here. We’re dating.”

Relief - oh, she felt such _relief_ at that, barely stifling the sigh threatening to make its way out of her mouth. 

Then came the smile, working its way up from something small and secretive to her openly beaming up at her ceiling fan, spinning round and round above her head. 

“That’s what I told the old man too. He kept _pressing,_ and I didn’t want to lie, so I just - fucking told him. He wants to meet you,” he grumbled.

“Me?”

“Yes, you. Who the fuck else would I be talking about?”

“Right, okay, sorry - I just… when?”

“Whenever.”

“I mean… do you want to go ahead and get it out of the way? Or is this something you’d rather try and see if he forgets?”

“He won’t forget,” Felix muttered darkly. “How to be a normal father, sure, but not this kind of thing.”

Byleth chose not to open that particular can of worms. “Okay, well I’m pretty free most nights,” she replied. “Pick a time and day and I can probably come.”

He huffed. “Fine.”

He heard him shifting around, like he was trying to get comfortable. Was he in bed, too, she wondered? Had he been lying there, thinking about her like she’d been thinking about him? 

It was silly, but the thought made her happy. 

Fuck, she had it bad.

“I should probably meet your friends, too.”

Byleth frowned, surprised once again. “What?”

“Your friends - I should meet them, right? As someone other than Angry Gym Guy?”

His voice was laced with just the right amount of disdain, and Byleth found herself letting out a nervous little laugh. 

“They’d probably like that, yeah.”

“Fine. I’ll do it.” 

She was touched - truly. Had Jeralt still been alive, she had a feeling he’d have offered to meet him. But he wasn’t, and Felix knew that; so he was suggesting the next best thing in going out with her found family, the friends she’d surrounded herself with over the past few years. 

She smiled, cradling the phone a little closer to her ears.

“Good. You can come to the next Wine Night?"

"...wine night?"

"Wine Night," she confirmed.

"...what the fuck is wine night?"

"Oh, Felix," Byleth said, solemn. "It's a most sacred occasion - a holy ritual among only the closest of friends."

He snorted at that.

" _Basically,_ we just go out to a bar and drink cheap merlot until Seteth has to drive us home."

"...wow."

"You'll love it."

"Thanks, I hate it."

She laughed. "Yes, but you like me."

His voice turned surly. "...yes."

"So you'll go anyways."

"...yes."

Byleth beamed. "It's a date."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wine Nights are Best Nights,
> 
> Sincerely, 
> 
> A Vodka Aunt


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, you, before you read this! Go check out this AMAZING artwork of the scene at the end of chapter four that Sayl drew! <3
> 
> https://twitter.com/ShadowSayl/status/1313338706544254977 
> 
> While you're there, go check out more of Sayl's work and fics because it's all amazing and hot!

“I don’t understand why we’re doing this at my house.”

Byleth hefted the box of various types of liquor she’d put together earlier off the counter. A little heavier than she’d estimated, answering him took a little more effort than usual. “Two reasons,” she huffed, leading the way out to his car. Felix followed behind her, Mario Kart controllers and Cards Against Humanity game in hand. 

“First - Sothis. Dorothea’s allergic to dogs. Having it at your place means she doesn’t have to snort a couple Zyrtec just to hang out with us.”

He nodded in acceptance. “What else?”

She wiggled her fingers at the nearly full lot surrounding her building.

“Parking.” 

Having reached Felix’s car, she popped the box over to one hip, waiting for him to pop the trunk.

“You have street access. I don’t.”

He made a noise at that, as if to protest, but reached for his keys in defeat. Byleth quickly leaned down to set the box of alcohol inside the car, nestling it into the space between the two throw pillows she’d snagged from her couch. 

There.

That should keep them from moving around too much.

“I thought you said this was wine night.”

She stood, pushing her sweaty bangs back from her forehead. “It is,” she said. 

Felix raised an eyebrow, lifting a bottle of brandy out of the box. “Then what’s this?”

“You know Sylvain gets pretentious when he drinks. How can he impersonate his father without cognac?”

He snorted at that. “And this?” he demanded, pointing to a bottle of tequila. 

“Well, we can’t do shots of wine, Felix,” she said, voice flat. 

“Sure you can.”

“It doesn’t work like that,” she insisted. 

“Fine. Whatever,” he said, returning both bottles to the box. “Just don’t expect me to drink that shit.” 

“...you don’t intend to do this sober, do you?”

“Fuck no, but I’m not drinking your ten dollar Jose Cuervo.”

Byleth put a hand over the bottle’s lid, making a consoling noise. “He didn’t mean that, Jose,” she soothed. 

“Of course I fucking meant it,” he snapped. “That shit’s gross.”

“It’s tequila, Felix. It’s supposed to taste like bad decisions.” 

He huffed out a breath, not bothering with a more definitive response, and set the games down on the other side of one of the throw pillows. After a moment’s consideration, he pulled a nearby blanket over the whole thing, tucking in the edges for extra cushioning. 

Well. At least he was aware his driving was hazardous to breakable objects. 

“Where’s the nosy one?”

“Claude.”

“Yes, him. He’s coming, right?”

“Yes.”

She’d invited him and Lysithea both. Though to be fair, Claude would have shown up to their wine night regardless of whether or not he’d scored an invitation. It was better to be up front, she’d learned, than to wait and see which party game he’d crash. 

Also, he bought snacks. 

Good snacks. 

So really, inviting Claude was just plain practical. 

Lysithea was there to keep him humble - someone had to, else he’d get himself in trouble. Normally, that someone was Byleth. But tonight, she was going to have to play referee between Sylvain, Felix, Catherine, and Shamir; she already had her hands full. 

“Well, where is he?” Felix demanded. “Are we still driving him?” He looked pointedly down at his watch. “He’s late.”

“So are we,” she pointed out. “Sylvain and Dorothea are already at your house.”

And they'd ordered the pizza, bless them. 

Felix scowled. “Just text him.”

“Fine. Give me a second.” 

She pulled out her phone, sending off a quick text. 

**< Byleth >** If you’re not downstairs in 5 minutes, Felix will leave without you 

The response was almost instantaneous. 

**< Claude > **Well, I never! 

“He’s coming,” she said, looking back up at Felix. 

As if she’d made it so, a door suddenly banged open, the sound followed by two sets of footsteps. Byleth looked up just in time to see Claude making his way towards them, the promised snacks in hand; he was wearing a ridiculous Hawaiian print shirt, his sunglasses perched on his head. He put a hand over his heart as he approached, mocking offense. 

“Threatening to leave me behind, Felix? I’m hurt.” 

Felix coolly arched an eyebrow. “You’ll live.”

He stomped off, getting into the driver’s seat, and Claude shot Byleth a grin.

“This is going to go terribly,” he said. “You know that, right?” 

“Behave,” she warned. 

He raised his hands, winking. “I solemnly swear I am up to no good.”

She looked at Lysithea. “Did you bring the hammer?”

Lysithea opened the bag at her side, pulling out a bright red plastic hammer, like you’d see in a kid’s toy set. “Just say the word, and the sunglasses are toast,” she said, her tone surprisingly threatening.

Claude clutched said sunglasses to his hair. “You wouldn’t,” he said.

“I _would,”_ Lysithea insisted. “And I’d _like_ it.”

“Cruel, cruel woman.”

“Be nice, and she won’t have to break them,” Byleth reminded him. 

He sighed, opening one of the back doors to Felix’s car and sliding inside. “You’re no fun, Teach.” 

“This is for your own good,” she retorted, settling into the passenger seat as Lysithea took the spot behind her. “Really.”

“Yeah, yeah, sure.” He flipped the sunglasses down onto his face, rolling his window down as Felix pulled out of his parking spot. “So Felix, where do you live? Byleth says you have a house?”

“Yes.”

“He lives in the Heights,” Byleth supplied, figuring that was more than Felix would offer.

“The _Heights_?” Claude whistled. “Ritzy - should’ve expected that, I guess. You _are_ a Fraldarius.”

“It’s a fixer upper,” Felix snapped. “Not a fucking penthouse.”

“Handy _and_ sexy? He’s a keeper, Teach.”

Felix muttered something suspiciously murderous under his breath, and Byleth shot her friend a warning look in the rearview mirror. 

Claude had the good sense to change direction. “I have a friend who lives over there - bright pink hair, drives a little red Corvette. Ring any bells?”

“...Hilda Goneril?”

“You _do_ know her!” Claude grinned. “Man, she said she’d seen you running around the block, but I couldn’t believe it. So, what, you all used to date in high school?”

Felix snorted. “No.”

“Yeah, you don’t seem her type. She’d have a hard time wrapping you around her little finger.”

“The way she has _you_ tucked in her pocket?” Lysithea asked.

“Um, excuse you,” Claude said. “Hilda and I are _partners_ -”

“That’s what she wants you to think.”

“How _do_ you know Hilda, Felix?” Byleth asked, shooting him a sideline glance.

She’d met Hilda a couple of times - she spent a lot of time at Claude’s, taking advantage of his very comfortable couch and stash of White Claw while she avoided doing actual work. She was nice enough; they’d once teamed up against him and Lorenz in beer pong, and after winning a solid three rounds in a row (Lorenz’ fault mostly - Claude’s aim was impeccable, and only improved as he drank), had snapped a selfie of them, triumphant in victory. So they were Instagram friends, at least.

She didn’t seem like someone Felix would befriend, though - or associate with. 

“It’s - I don’t, really,” he huffed. “My dad knows her dad. That’s all.” He sped up to avoid a red light, throwing the rest of them into the backs of their seats. “She’s friends with Sylvain, though.”

Now _that_ wasn’t surprising. Byleth could see those two getting along.

“She always liked you, you know,” Claude added. “You and your aesthetic.”

“My aesthetic?” Felix repeated, eyes narrowing as he rolled through a stop sign a little faster than was strictly legal.

“Yeah, you know - goth jock.”

Byleth coughed to cover her laugh, turning away so Felix wouldn’t see the smile on her face.

“ _Goth jock_?”

“Yeah, like - you’re obviously sporty and in good shape, but like, you avoid people and wear black all the time, and then there’s the piercings and tattoos, so like - goth jock.”

“That isn’t-”

“Honestly, the only thing you’re missing is the eyeliner.”

“I am _not-_ ”

“You are,” Lysithea cut him off, not even looking up from the game she was playing on her phone. “Don’t bother trying to deny it.”

Byleth’s shoulders were shaking, and she turned back to Felix, helpless. He shot her a withering glare. “You too?” he demanded.

“I’m sorry,” she said, her grin finally on full display. 

“Traitor.” 

It was a half-hearted insult at best, and Byleth knew she was forgiven.

“Hey, I was a jock in high school, too,” she pointed out. “If it helps.”

“Yeah,” Claude interjected. “But you were a jock who _dated_ goths. Not a goth jock.”

Felix perked up, looking far too interested as he pulled into his subdivision.

She sighed. “That was _one_ guy, Claude-”

“That was _Jeritza von Hyrm_ -”

“One guy-”

“-literally the gothiest goth to ever goth.”

“He liked peach ice cream, Claude.”

“So? I bet he spent all of his free time in Hot Topic and listened to Marilyn Manson because it made him _edgy_.”

“How would you know?” she demanded. “You’ve never met him-”

“I have seen the photos,” he shot back. “And I know the type.”

“He wasn’t _that_ bad-”

“He wore a mask to your prom, Teach.”

Felix snorted. “A _mask_?”

“Full on Phantom of the Opera style,” Claude confirmed. 

Well, shit.

He had her there.

“I never should have shown you those pictures,” she muttered, throwing him a dark look.

“You shouldn’t have,” he agreed, smiling at her sweetly.

“Do you still have them?” Felix asked.

Byleth stared at him, shocked, as Claude shuffled forward, phone in hand, scrolling through his photos with startling speed. 

“Gimme a sec,” he said, holding the phone where Felix could see it. The seatbelt protested his movements, and he irritably snapped it off.

“Do not show him that,” Byleth ordered, swiping at his hand. “And put your seatbelt back on."

“What are you, my mom?” 

She made another attempt, nicking the side of his phone with her fingernail. But Claude was too quick, and too good at predicting her, for that to have worked. He easily avoided her grasp, somehow moving the phone even _more_ into Felix’s field of vision. 

“Here we go! It’s a thing of beauty, isn’t it?”

Felix frowned down at the screen, eyes half on the road. He barely avoided a mailbox as he took a hairpin turn onto another street.

He looked up at Byleth a moment later, expression utterly confused.

“What the fuck is wrong with your hair?” he asked.

Oh.

Oh, _no._

She’d forgotten about the hair, hastily hacked off by Jeralt in an attempt to trim her split ends before the dance. She’d suffered through it for most of her junior year before it was long enough to take to an actual salon and let a professional rectify his mistake. She’d tried to eradicate all photos of said hair, slowly deleting photos as she came across them on her social media accounts. Claude’s was one of the few she’d not managed to destroy.

And now _Felix_ had seen it.

“Nothing,” Byleth retorted, sliding down a little into her seat.

“Oh, Teach didn’t tell you? She liked to rock a mullet back in the day,” Claude crowed. 

“I did not!” she snapped, a touch defensive, crossing her arms over her chest. Seeing Felix was still waiting for a reply, she added, “There wasn’t time to get my hair cut before prom, so my dad cut it for me. It was the only style he knew how to do.”

“It’s… unique _,_ ” Felix declared, no doubt his best attempt to be diplomatic.

“Hey, it looked fine on him!”

“Sure, yeah,” Claude agreed. “But your dad - when he wasn’t rocking that killer French braid - looked like the front of an 80s hairspray band. Like, he had the _look._ ”

“And I don’t?”

Felix and Claude answered her in perfect sync.

“No.”

She sighed, at a loss.

“And this, Felix,” Claude continued, going back to his phone, “is Jeritza von Hyrm. Teach’s high school boo.” 

Felix studied the photo for a moment, eyes occasionally flicking up to Byleth. 

“He’s…”

“Big?” Claude suggested.

“Boring?” Lysithea added - not that she’d bothered to look at the picture.

“I know him.”

Claude’s head whipped around so fast his fast flicked Felix in the face. “Pardon?”

Irritated, Felix repeated himself. “I _know_ him,” he said. “He spars with me at the gym.”

“You’re kidding me.” Claude turned to Byleth, delighted. “Did you know this?”

“No,” she replied, looking at Felix. 

“It’s not often,” he huffed, turning onto yet another street. This one was a little ways back from the rest of the subdivision, leading up a hill where the larger houses sat on their pristinely manicured lawns. “He’s just… there sometimes, and he’s a bigger fucking challenge than the other guy…”

Felix.

Felix and Jeritza.

Sparring.

“He’s got a fucking mean right hook.”

It didn’t bother her - not really. She and Jeritza had dated for all of five months in high school, and during all that time, they hadn’t really… well, suffice it to say, Jeritza hadn’t been big on talking. They hadn’t developed much of a bond. They’d made out - they'd made out a _lot_ \- and she'd let him cop a feel once or twice - but it had been a high school relationship through and through, and since it had ended, she’d not given it much thought.

But Felix beating the _shit_ out of Jeritza -

Well.

That actually sounded kind of neat.

“So clearly, Byleth has a type.”

Byleth frowned, looking to Claude for clarification. She didn’t think Felix and Jeritza could look _less_ alike-

“Broody, moody, and hella cutie.”

“Oh, for-”

“We’re here,” Felix interjected. 

Good timing.

Claude ducked out of the car surprisingly quickly, snacks in hand, running to greet Sylvain where he was standing on the front lawn with Dorothea. 

“You better run,” Byleth muttered.

Lysithea unbuckled her seatbelt, reaching for her bag. “Hammer time?”

“Not yet,” Byleth replied. “Wait until he least expects it.”

Lysithea nodded. “Got it. I’ll keep an eye out.” She made her exit then, slinking around the frame of the car like a cat stalking its prey. 

A part of Byleth pitied Claude’s sunglasses.

Another, much larger part, hoped Lysithea smashed them to smithereens.

Trying not to get her hopes up too much, she turned to Felix. “Well,” she said. “Here we are.”

He nodded, looking down at his lap. “Yeah.”

“Hey.” He looked up at her, lifting an eyebrow. “Something wrong?”

“No,” he said. “I just-” 

She waited, patient.

“I want to do this,” he said, the words all coming out in a rush. “I'm not as excited as _he_ fucking is, but I want to do this.”

She nodded, understanding that part.

“But our friends fucking suck.”

Byleth opened her mouth, about to protest. Then she remembered Claude’s eagerness to show Felix that god awful photo of her hair, and her mouth snapped shut again.

“Yes. Yes, they do.”

* * *

“Who is down for anything, as long as it’s drugs?” 

No sooner had Sylvain read the card than half the group burst out laughing. 

“Claude,” Byleth offered.

He shot her an offended look. “ _T_ _each!”_

“You gave me weed brownies for Christmas last year.”

“I gave you _delicious_ brownies for Christmas last year, you mean. Besides, it’s obvious who the real culprit is here, right?” He looked pointedly at Sylvain over the rims of his sunglasses. 

“No chance,” Sylvain replied. “It’s my card, so you can’t pick me. And anyways, I left all that stuff behind in college. I’m a respectable member of society now!”

Felix snorted, Annette giggled, and Mercedes let out a soft, “Oh, sweetie” in the space of about two seconds; the rest of them quickly devolved into laughter.

“So, Claude is one vote,” Sylvain continued, as soon as they’d all regained their breath. “Any other takers?”

“Claude has my vote,” Catherine announced. "Case closed."

“I thought we were _friends_ , Catherine.”

“Mine, too,” Shamir added.

Claude sighed. “Everyone’s a critic.” 

They voted, and as no one could come up with another plausible person, Claude was declared the winner. He begrudgingly accepted the card Sylvain handed him, pulling one out of the deck for his own turn.

“Who,” he read, glancing up at the crowd, “is a little bitch?”

“Felix,” Sylvain said immediately.

“Fuck off,” Felix retorted.

“It’s totally Felix,” Annette agreed.

Felix did not tell Annette to fuck off - because it was Annette - but he did send her a half-wounded, half-irritated look.

Again, no one else offered any alternatives, and Claude looked confused.

“Really? I mean, I feel like Lysithea wins this one by default.”

“Watch it,” Lysithea warned.

“You are _little,_ and you are a-”

“Don’t finish that sentence.”

Claude huffed. “ _Fine,_ ” he said. “I guess Felix wins.” He held out the card for Felix to take. When Felix did no such thing, he gently set it down beside his knee.

Byleth nudged him. “It’s your turn now,” she reminded him.

Rolling his eyes, Felix reached forward for a card. He stared at it for several long moments before reading it aloud.

“Who will make a great cougar?”

Seteth cleared his throat. “I’m afraid I don’t understand,” he said. “Who is a large cat?”

“Aw, Setty,” Annette said, patting his hand. “No.”

He frowned. “It’s… not a large cat.” 

“Try again.”

“A cougar,” Claude announced, “is an older woman who dates men much younger than she is.” 

Seteth processed this. “Ah,” he said. “I see.”

“A man who does the same with younger women is a manther.”

“A… manther.”

“Yes.”

“This terminology seems very juvenile.”

Mercedes smiled and patted him on the back. “I think you’re beginning to understand pop culture, Seteth!”

Clearly unable to tell if she was making fun of him or not, Seteth gave her a weak smile and motioned for the group to continue. 

“So, carrying on, carrying on - who’s the cougar?” Claude demanded. “Shall we put it to a vote?” 

Dorothea sighed and held out her hand. “No need,” she said. “I’ll take this one for the team.”

“You aren’t even going to argue?” Felix asked.

“Anything I say now can and will be used against me ten years from now,” she said. “So, no. Not really.” 

Sylvain waggled his eyebrows at her. “I’ll be your toy boy any day,” he offered, shooting her a wink.

“Aw, honey,” she crooned. “You’ll be far too old to be a cub by that point.” She ran a hand through his hair, settling her palm against his cheek. “You’re awfully cute though - I may find you too hard to resist.”

“Get a room, you two,” Shamir snapped.

Sylvain laughed it off, even as he drew Dorothea into his side. “Catherine literally has her hand between your legs!”

“It’s cold,” Catherine said. “From the beer.” She held up her drink, ice cubes clinking against the glass, as proof.

“And you can’t think of any other place to warm it?”

Catherine grinned, leaning forward. “Oh, I could think of a couple-”

“My turn!” Dorothea said quickly, saving the rest of them from hearing whatever Catherine came up with next. She grabbed a card from the top of the deck, signaling for the others to be quiet so she could be heard. “Okay, okay, here it goes, listen up - who…” She paused, hesitating.

“What, that bad?” Sylvain asked, leaning in to read. His eyebrows shot up in his hair, a low whistle leaving his mouth.

“It could… be worse," Dorothea allowed.

"Could be. Marginally."

“Just read it,” Felix snapped.

“Well, if you’re sure…” Dorothea cleared her throat. “Who could do so much better?”

There was silence for a moment, no one daring to speak. Byleth looked around, wondering who among them would offer up a name. _Would_ anyone dare? Or would they stay quiet out of a need to keep the peace-

“Dorothea,” Felix said.

The peace was broken.

“Dude-” Sylvain spluttered, shooting his friend a hurt look. “That _stings_ -”

“Byleth,” Shamir challenged.

Now it was Felix’s turn to glare. “What.”

Dorothea sighed and turned to Byleth as the rest of them started bickering. “I knew I should have skipped that card,” she said. She put a finger to her lips, contemplative. “Although… which do you think it is - our friends think highly of us, or very little of our boyfriends?” 

Byleth considered this. “Probably the latter, but I’m going to go with the former,” she replied.

“As would I,” Dorothea said, giggling.

“I am a _delight,_ ” Sylvain announced, putting a hand to his chest. “You, Felix, are - not. You are _not!_ ”

Felix huffed, crossing his arms over his chest. “That still makes me better than you.”

“Byleth literally knew you as _Angry Gym Guy_ before you started dating-”

“Alright, alright, alright,” Claude interjected, physically pushing the two away from each other. “Let’s put it to a vote. All in favor of the lovely Dorothea deserving _so_ much more than our friend Sylvain can give her?” 

A couple of people raised their hands. 

“And those who think Byleth is scraping the bottom of the bucket by humoring _this_ one with a couple of dates?”

Decidedly more hands were raised.

Byleth and Dorothea, smartly, abstained from voting.

Felix scowled as the verdict came in. “I hate all of you,” he snapped. 

“No, you don’t,” Dorothea said sweetly. 

“It’s totally a bluff,” Sylvain affirmed.

“That’s why I nominated him for the ‘1% Evil, 99% Hot Gas’ card,” Claude said sagely. 

“Who even suggested this stupid game?” Felix demanded. “I thought we were playing Mario Party.”

“We were,” Shamir agreed. “But someone couldn’t handle the mini-games and broke the controller.” She looked pointedly at Catherine, who shrugged and laughed it off.

“What can I say?” she said. “I have a strong grip!” She stood, downing the rest of her beer and making for the kitchen. “I need a break from that one, though. Too much drama. Anyone else need a drink while I’m up?”

“I could use one,” Lysithea said, peering over the back of the couch. “What do you have?”

Catherine paused, one hand on the refrigerator. “Look, no offense, kid, but - are you even old enough to drink?” 

Lysithea glowered. “Excuse me?” 

“Catherine, give her a seltzer,” Claude said quickly.

“Is she? Look, I don’t want to get in trouble over a minor-”

Lysithea’s gaze was murderous, besting even Felix’s angriest scowl, and Claude scrambled over the back of the couch and into the kitchen. “Give her a _seltzer,_ Catherine,” he said, laughing nervously, “before she murders us in our sleep-”

Catherine shrugged, digging a drink out of the fridge and tossing it in Lysithea’s direction. “Fine,” she said, turning back to get another can for herself, “But don’t blame me if she blows chunks in the bathroom.”

“Disgusting.” 

Felix and Lysithea replied in unison before turning to one another in surprise. 

“Jinx!” Lysithea said quickly. She grinned, pointing a finger at him. “You owe me a cake.”

He frowned. “I thought it was a soda.”

“I prefer cake.”

“Where am I supposed to get a cake?”

“She likes red velvet,” Byleth replied. “And lemon.”

“But Goddess help you if you go the Little Debbie route,” Claude added.

“Homemade is definitely the way to go.”

“I have to _make_ a cake?”

“Well, I suppose you could buy it…” Byleth said slowly. 

“But she’s very picky,” Claude interjected. “And don’t even think about ordering anything other than buttercream frosting.”

“Yeah, the whipped topping stuff is persona non grata.”

“...it’s not allowed in the country?”

“Well, it’s certainly not allowed in my apartment,” Lysithea chimed in.

“Fuck me,” he sulked, sinking back into the couch - and inadvertently, closer to Byleth. 

Byleth grinned, nudging him with a shoulder. “Be nice,” she teased. “You don’t actually have to buy her a cake.”

He rolled his eyes. “I wasn’t planning on it.”

“I would suggest staying on her good side, though,” she continued. “Lysithea’s a good person to have on your side in a pinch.”

“Why’s that?” 

“She has a… surprisingly broad range of talents,” Byleth replied, trying to decide how best to phrase it. “She can bake the most delicious desserts you’ll ever taste. But she also knows how to hotwire a car.” She paused, taking a sip of her drink. “And if your internet’s ever dragging because the guy next door can’t stop hogging all the bandwidth, she knows a few - tricks.”

“Tricks.”

“Wouldn’t want his internet service provider to drop the connection during the last stages of a tense match, would we?”

From across the couch, Lysithea batted her eyelashes. “Goddess _forbid._ ”

“Man, do you remember that time Caspar got kicked out of diamond league?” Claude chortled, slapping the side of the couch. “He was _so_ mad-”

“You tackled him,” Byleth pointed out. “In the middle of a game.” 

She would’ve been upset too.

“Well, yeah. He insulted my mother.”

As the rest of them fell into a lively debate about whether or not Claude’s offense was warranted, Byleth turned to Felix. “You know, all things considered... I think this is going surprisingly well,” she said. 

Claude deftly avoided Catherine’s best attempt to give him a noogie, though he wasn’t quite as adept at avoiding the pillow Shamir whacked him with.

Meanwhile, Dorothea had climbed entirely into Sylvain’s lap, Lysithea was discussing the intricacies of double proofing a dough with Mercedes, and Annette was doing a victory dance on the living room table after creaming Seteth in the latest version of Mortal Kombat - the only video game Felix had thought to provide as party fare.

Felix lifted an eyebrow at her. “This is _well_?” he asked.

Byleth blinked. “Well, yeah. No one’s thrown up, and your furniture’s still all in one piece.”

Despite himself, Felix choked out a laugh. Maybe it was the booze he’d had to drink - or maybe the carefree spirit of the evening was finally getting to him. Either way, Byleth drank in the noise, beaming at him, unable to resist tucking herself a little closer into his side.

“They like you,” she told him.

This time the laugh sounded more like a wheeze. 

“They do,” she insisted. “If they didn’t like you, they wouldn’t be giving you shit.”

“...so they’re giving me shit _because_ they like me?”

“That’s right.”

“...that makes no sense.”

She shrugged. “Some things, you just have to take at face value.”

He snorted. “I’ll take your word for it.”

“You should.” She half-turned, her nose accidentally skimming against his cheek. “My word is good.”

“Mmm.”

“I’m glad they like you,” she admitted. 

And she was - not that she’d have just ditched him if they didn’t. No. But there was generally some truth to the notion that if your friends didn’t like a guy, you should take a good hard look at him yourself. 

Catherine, Shamir, and Seteth, though a little hesitant at first, had warmed to Felix quickly, adding him into their conversations, teasing him - or, in Seteth’s case, asking him the pointedly boring and polite questions one was expected to ask of new company. Catherine had even challenged him to an arm wrestling competition two beers in - something she normally reserved for her dearest friends. After three minutes of puffing and huffing, Shamir had declared it a draw and suggested they dig into the pizza. 

Byleth suspected there would be a rematch someday - next time, to the death.

That itself was a good sign. She could see them doing this again; she _expected_ them to do this again. If she hadn’t, if things had been going poorly… well, she’d stashed her old Bop-It in the car, just in case, but there was only so much her very old party toy could salvage. 

Bop-It was many things, but it wasn’t a miracle worker.

Mercedes and Annette, he’d already known - another surprise. In retrospect, Byleth thought she should’ve guessed it sooner. They’d gone to college with Sylvain, after all, and he’d been roommates with Felix. It made sense that they’d have run in the same circle. But just like Sylvain and Dorothea, they’d never once connected Byleth’s rants about her gym acquaintance with their friend from undergrad, and so when they’d turned up to Felix’s house tonight and found him staring back at them-

Annette had squealed, dropping the platter of cookies she’d made to throw her arms around his neck. Mercedes, ever graceful, had caught them in one hand and grasped Felix’s hands with the other.

“It’s wonderful to see you again, Felix,” she’d said. “Or should we call you Angry Gym Guy?”

“Please don’t,” he’d shot back.

She hadn’t. 

But Annette _had_ put it into a song. Byleth had made her promise to do a demo later, when they’d been cleaning up empty pizza boxes.

“You got it,” Annette had replied, grinning. “I’ll make you a secret mixtape!”

What Felix didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him.

“It’s… good.”

Byleth blinked, turning back to Felix. “What is?”

“It’s good they like me. I’m glad,” he admitted, cheeks turning pink. Noticing her stare, he huffed, looking away. “Quit staring.”

“But you’re so cute.”

He didn’t have a comeback for that, and Byleth couldn’t help but laugh. When she’d recovered, she allowed herself a small smile.

“Hey.”

“What?”

“Thanks for doing this,” she said. “It means…” She paused, taking a deep breath. “It really does mean a lot to me.”

He nodded. “That’s why I did it.”

“And thanks for hosting.”

He shrugged. “You did all the organizing,” he reminded her. “I just had the _street access._ ”

“You allowed Claude von Riegan into your house,” she said, solemn. “You sacrificed plenty.”

He snorted. “I’ll scrub everything down later.”

A smart plan.

“But - later.”

“Later?”

“Tomorrow,” he clarified. “Not tonight. Tonight-” He turned his head to the side, mouth brushing against her ear. Byleth’s breath caught in her throat, not daring to move as he moved a piece of hair out of the path of his lips. 

“I still want to fuck you against that wall,” he breathed.

Fuck.

_Fuck._

She’d like that, too.

“Are you staying the night?”

Byleth nodded vigorously. “Can we kick everyone else out?” 

He snickered. “Only if you’re okay with being terrible hosts.”

“I can live with that.”

He pressed a kiss to her cheek, his lips lingering on her skin.

Fittingly, it was Claude who ruined the moment. 

The sound of a camera going off had Felix going stiff as a board, darting away from Byleth. “What was that,” he asked, voice low and dangerous.

“Photographic evidence,” Claude replied. 

“Of what.”

“Our resident lovebirds!” He leaned over, showing Sylvain and Dorothea the screen. “Adorable. Just precious.”

“It is a good photo, By,” Dorothea admitted, a touch sheepishly.

“Soft Felix is cute,” Sylvain agreed.

“ _Soft Felix-_ ”

“Claude.” 

“Yeah, Teach?”

“I said no photos.”

“You did. I ignored you. Obviously.”

“I said,” she repeated, rising to her feet. “No _photos._ ”

That gave Claude pause. He slowly pocketed his phone, looking at her with narrowed eyes. Suspicious - as he should be.

“You brought this upon yourself,” she said, looking to Lysithea, who gasped, bringing the red plastic hammer out of her bag and brandishing it with unbridled glee.

“Hammer time?” she asked. 

Byleth nodded.

“Hammer time.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is like 90% dialogue, I am so sorry
> 
> The game they are playing is called Drunk, Stoned, or Stupid; it is ridiculously fun to play with close friends and I highly recommend it.
> 
> Thanks for reading! :)


End file.
